Eddie's Life as a Teenage Vampire
by BlackRosePoetry
Summary: High school is difficult even under the best of circumstances. For Eddie Matthews, high school has been made even more horrid by the return of his most hated elementary school foe: Mrs. Jeepers. As the year progresses, things will take a turn for the tragic, and Eddie must come to terms with the fact that sometimes our perceived enemies aren't exactly what they seem to be.
1. First Days of School and Broken Dreams

**Chapter One: First Days of School and Broken Prank Dreams**

Bailey City had never been the most normal of places. Odd characters came and went throughout the years, never staying long enough to raise many suspicions or questions. Whether they were particularly hairy camp counselors, too-pale counselors with razor sharp eye teeth, or librarians with an affinity for Camelot, none of these strange adults stayed more than a year. Two years, tops.

And Eddie Matthews was eternally grateful for this.

Despite this, he was not grateful for the interminable boredom to be found within school. From Bailey Elementary to Bailey Middle School, then finally on to Bailey City High. Obviously the city council was feeling creative they day they decided to name their school systems. In fact, there was even a Bailey University, nestled deep in the west side of the city. And it wasn't just the unoriginal names that irritated Eddie concerning his schooling.

It was the goddamn rules.

Save third grade, elementary school was a blast compared to middle school. It seemed the older he got, the more his teachers wanted to stuff him in a box and make him shut up. They wanted him to "settle down", to become "productive". Those were just excuses to make him conform, to keep him from being. . . well, him. And let it never be said that hormones passed Eddie by during his dreadful middle-school years, because he would be the first to say – quite vehemently in fact – that hormones were a bitch. A raging, bitch with PMS like nothing anybody had ever seen before.

Still, he was pretty confident that high school had to be at least a little better than middle-school. Why is the only reward for graduating from one school always moving on to a bigger and more annoying one? Eddie had never really understood the logic behind that. However, he did understand that having a nerdy best friend like Howie had saved his ass on more than one occasion.

Speaking of nerdy best friends. . .

Howie was making his way towards the high school building, bag slung haphazardly over one shoulder and dirty blonde hair falling across his thick-rimmed glasses. The gangly freshman was still the best partner in crime a guy could ask for, even though he was a nerd to the extreme. Eddie grinned, taking off at a sprint towards the unsuspecting fourteen-year-old.

"HI HOWIE!" Eddie shrieked.

It was a comedic moment of the ages. Howie leapt nearly a foot in the air, clutching his worn copy of _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_ to his chest before he finally realized who was accosting him. The blonde scowled viciously, thin shoulders hunching in on instinct and dark eyes flashing.

"Dammit, Eddie!" Howie growled. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack? What the hell was that for?"

Eddie grinned, shrugging even as his thin Kansas City Chief's tee protested the movement. "I dunno. You're an easy target, dude. And I need to practice my dick-move skills for later today. The teachers here will fear me by the time I finish seventh period."

Howie rolled his eyes, adjusting his glasses out of habit as they made their way towards the formidable building. They got some odd glances from some of the older students, mostly because their friendship was just so irregular.

Even in elementary school, Howie Jones was a bookworm. An excellent student with straight A's all around, teachers loved him. He was slight of build and soft-spoken. And even though he was cute in the face, the poor kid was so terribly shy outside of his group of friends, hardly anyone tended to give him a second thought. This being said, Eddie Matthews was the polar opposite. Eddie had filled out since middle school, opting to play sports such as soccer and football in his spare time. He was tall, all muscle and a loud boisterous attitude that automatically made him a big focus when he entered a room.

Ignoring the odd looks and pointed whispers, Eddie almost immediately spotted their other two best friends amongst the mass of swirling teens. "Liza! Melody! Over here!" he called.

A delicate-looking blonde girl with blue eyes looked their way, smiling brightly. Her companion, a taller black girl with an obvious affinity for sports, smirked in a way that almost made Eddie think twice about calling them over. They waded their way through the pre-school mob with practiced ease, and Liza immediately gave both boys a bone-crushing hug.

"Oh my God, I am so excited!" Liza exclaimed. "We're finally in high school! This is gonna be awesome!"

Eddie snorted. "Yeah, if by awesome you mean mind-numbingly boring. The only thing I'm excited for is some fresh teachers to torture."

Melody sighed heavily. "Eddie, when are you ever going to grow up?"

"Never! Growing up means getting boring, and I refuse to become one of those tie-wearing sticks in the mud! Besides, I see no good reason to act my age."

Howie snickered behind his hand, trying to cover it by adjusting his glasses some more. Melody smacked him in the stomach anyways, while Liza merely giggled at Eddie's response.

"Eddie," she chuckled, "I know for a fact you got that off of a t-shirt. Don't even try to deny it! And the least you could do is try to act like a normal human being, if not for your sake, then for ours."

The red-headed boy just widened his grin, turning his flat-bill cap – Chiefs pattern, to match his shirt – backwards on his head. "To start, I wasn't going to try and deny that I found that quote on a t-shirt. That just really describes my newfound philosophy in life. As for acting normal for your sake, there can be no promises. "

Melody scowled, but quickly changed the subject by saying, "Who do you have for homeroom? I have Mrs. Jenkins."

Howie shook his head, gesturing towards the leering red-head by his side. "Eddie and I compared schedules last night. Since I had your schedules too, we went ahead and looked to see if there were any classes all four of us have together. The only class we're all in is Algebra at the end of the day."

Another groan erupted from Melody just as the first bell rang, signaling the beginning of a new school year for everyone. "You mean I have to deal with this dipshit and his pranks during my hardest class? Great. That's just frickin' brilliant!"

The group made their way into the dull concrete building, laughing and joking together until it was time to go their separate ways. Howie started his day with an AP English class. Melody began with gym, basketball to be specific. Liza got the ball rolling with Physical Science. And Eddie?

Eddie, as always, began his school day – indeed, his school year – with a bang in American History.

The other three went through their day relatively smoothly. Paying attention, taking meticulous notes, and listening to each teacher with rapt focus was on the agenda for them. This was not the case for their carrot-topped companion. Eddie did everything in his power to disturb the peace this first day. He switched schedules with several other students. He showed up for random and incorrect classes, only ambling off to the right one after the tardy bell had rung and the teacher had gotten well into their first-day lectures. He pulled pranks right and left, even managing to make a gaggle of seniors collapse into fits of laughter after he tripped the resident outcast of the sophomore class.

To be frank, Eddie Matthews had himself crowned the Prank Master of Bailey High by the time seventh period rolled around.

Singing loudly to himself, Eddie break-danced into the algebra room, knocking over several books in the process and generally making a nuisance of himself. It was a shitty time to have a math class, if anyone were to ask the students. How the hell were they supposed to concentrate on formulas and equations when there was only an hour between them and the final bell?

Sliding into an empty seat, Eddie punched Howie lightly on the arm with a contagious grin. "Eh, what's up, doc? How's the nerd-ness coming?"

Howie adjusted his glasses and tried not to let his smile be too obvious. "Dude, it's the last hour of the day, and math is my favorite subject. Try to tone it down a notch, will ya?"

The grin Eddie returned was nothing short of evil. "There can be no promises, buddy."

Somehow, against their better judgment and the persuasion of their peers, both Liza and Melody decided to sit next to Eddie. There was a better chance all three of them would manage to keep the resident trouble-maker from doing something stupid rather than leaving Howie to fend for himself. The rest of the students were laughing, grouped together in little packs around desks that seemed far too small for their still-awkward bodies. A pungent mix of body odor and cologne permeated the air, and the air conditioner made the room almost unbearably cold. Chatter rang on the air in a dull roar.

But every single student, even Eddie, went silent the minute Principal Gibbs walked in the room.

Principal Gibbs was an older man, extremely tall, and thin to the point of ridiculousness. He appeared to be in his mid to late fifties, with thick gray hair despite the impressive amount of premature wrinkles lining his face. But he seemed to be the jovial sort, gracing them with a welcoming smile before tucking his hands in his pockets and clearing his throat.

"Welcome, students," he began. "I hope your first day here at Bailey High has been a pleasant one." He glanced around the room with deep brown eyes, serious despite his grandfatherly nature. "Now that pleasantries are out of the way, let's get down to business. Now, you might recall Mrs. Howard being the instructor for this class when you registered. And, up until this morning, you would have been correct in assuming she would be your teacher for this year. However, the school district was notified of a sudden career change for Mrs. Howard earlier this month. A replacement has been found, and I'm sure that you'll all give this lovely lady the respect she deserves."

With that, he gestured to the door with a signal for the new teacher to enter the room for introduction. "Class, I would like you all to give a warm welcome to Mrs. Jeepers. She's been living in Bailey City for several years now. But she is, however, new to our school. Be kind. Be courteous. And, most importantly, remember Mrs. Jeepers is the authority figure while you are in this room."

With that, Mrs. Jeepers in all her terrifying glory stepped to the front of the room. She looked exactly the way the four students remembered her. At least, she did in the face. Her long red hair hung loose about her waist now, curling gently at the ends, and she wore an attractive black pencil skirt with a green short-sleeved blouse. That damn brooch was now pinned at her breast, mocking Eddie every time it caught the light. A light smirk curved her still-full lips as the Transylvanian woman surveyed the class before her.

Green eyes locked on to dark brown, a staring contest for the ages. Eddie thought his head was going to explode. Or he was going to spontaneously combust. Either way, the sensation could never be classified as a pleasant one.

Liza looked like she was ready to faint. Melody had her mouth hung wide open, eyes bugging out of her head and pencil ready to slip from her fingers. Howie had turned the color of a ripe tomato for reasons Eddie would never be able to fathom. Maybe hormones were being a bitch again.

Eddie did believe that hormones were a bitch. This was only evidence to further his point.

"Oh, I'm sure we'll all get along grandly, Principal Gibbs," Mrs. Jeepers purred. Visible shudders ran through the class as her accent slid along their exposed skin. "In fact, I recognize several of my students from my elementary school days."

Liza gulped, lips moving even though no audible sound came out. Eddie figured she was praying that her nose wouldn't bleed. Melody, having awoken from her shock-induced stupor, looked ready to punch someone in the face. Howie was still blushing, still staring at pale skin with shadows and unnatural emerald eyes.

Eddie, however, dropped his head to the desktop with an audible "thud!"

"I'm fucking doomed," he whispered dejectedly.

One hand reached over and patted his back sympathetically, even the owner of said hand didn't look away from their new-found torture. "It's okay, bro. At least we're older. It won't be all that bad."

The glare Eddie shot the blonde boy could've frozen Hell over ten times. "If you ever say that again, I'll cut your damn tongue out. This is going to suck balls."

Neither boy noticed the way emerald eyes flashed in amusement, nor did they notice the way the woman floated gracefully to the center of the room. Only when her smooth, Transylvanian accent washed over the room again, did they manage to look up and pay attention.

"As Principal Gibbs has already stated, I am Mrs. Jeepers, and I will be your algebra teacher for the coming year. Now, while I'm sure you are all mature, reasonable young ladies and gentlemen, I would like to go over a few rules before we begin with today's lesson."

Mrs. Jeepers sent an almost wicked half-smile in Eddie's direction before proceeding to write a few of the same damn rules from third grade on the white board. The red-headed boy went pale, gulping as he slumped back in his seat.

He shot Howie a defeated look. "I'm fucking doomed, dude."

No one, not even his best friend, had the heart to lie and say he wasn't.

* * *

 **A/N: Hey guys! BlackRosePoetry here, and I must say, it feels great to be back! I want to start out by saying this work is something that came to me whilst reading 'Vampires DO Wear Polka Dots' by the incomparable Arwen17evenstar. It's a pretty good fic, and the lovely has been kind enough to let me write my own interpretation of it. That being said, I made a few changes, mainly to the content and storyline. Being a teenager myself, there were a few things that I felt needed to be addressed. Such as swearing. Teenagers swear a shit-ton more than most people give them credit for, and I have a head-canon that Eddie would be a complete potty-mouth.**

 **With that, I thank you all for staying with me thus far, and I hope to read your lovely reviews soon. More chapters are to come, and with this I bid you all a fond farewell until next time!**

 **Sincerely,**

 **BlackRosePoetry**


	2. Geography Lessons, Romanian, and Fuckery

**Chapter Two: Geography Lessons, Romanian, and Fuckery**

The hour passed relatively quickly. Mostly because no one could work up the nerve to speak, not when the teacher had disturbingly bright green eyes and a voice that ghosted on the air. Everyone took meticulous notes, as Mrs. Jeepers wasted no time in putting them to work. By the time the final bell rang, everyone had almost three pages worth of new material to review and a thirty question assignment due by Wednesday.

Not even Eddie Matthews had worked up the nerve to complain about their work.

When the bell finally _did_ ring, Mrs. Jeepers bid them all a good afternoon. The freshmen left without a single word, eyes locked on the dull tile floor beneath their feet. Nobody said anything, not even as they erupted into the hallways to collect their study materials from their lockers. It was only when Howie sidled up to him as they exited the building that Eddie finally snapped out of his shock induced stupor.

"The girls are coming over to my house this afternoon," the blonde boy offered quietly. "We were going to work on algebra together, maybe play a little Xbox 360. You in?"

Eddie nodded, backpack already loaded with the textbooks he would need for that night's round of Satan-produced math homework. His dark eyes were still somewhat listless, shock roiling in their depths. "Yeah, man. Grams is working a late shift tonight, so I've got nothing to do. Besides, I don't understand algebra. Who the hell decided to put letters in math? It doesn't make any sense!"

For the first time since Mrs. Jeepers had re-entered their lives, Howie grinned widely at something his best friend said. He shoved Eddie's muscled shoulder lightly – not that it did anything – and laughed. "C'mon, let's get going you giant idiot. I promised the girls we'd walk with them to my place."

They met up with Liza and Melody outside. Late August in Michigan wasn't usually too terrible, and a nice breeze drifted through the air as the four friends made their way towards Howie's house. It wasn't long before each one was back to normal, including Eddie, who took immense pleasure in irritating Melody.

Well, until she kicked him in the shins hard enough to bruise, but that was beside the point.

As they passed the old Clancy Estate on Delaware Boulevard, a shiver coursed its way down Eddie's spine. There was something _wrong_ about that old house. He just didn't really know what. And, frankly, the urge to figure out what it was paled in comparison to the urge to run and never look back.

Finally, Howie led them onto the porch of his home, fumbling with his keys a moment before allowing them to enter. Dr. Jones, despite being a top scientist at FATS, lived in a comfortably sized home. It wasn't overly lavish or large, only three bedrooms and two bathrooms. The interior was nice, homey in Eddie's opinion, and it smelled of cinnamon. Much better than the smell of must and mothballs in his grandmother's home.

Howie sighed happily, depositing his backpack on the couch with a soft thud. Melody and Liza quickly followed suit, the latter pulling her long blonde hair into a messy bun before proceeding to pull out her homework.

"You guys want something to eat?" Howie asked. "My Dad said he wasn't going to be home in time for dinner, so I guess I could make a couple of pizzas for us."

The other three agreed to that plan, and soon the smell of pepperoni and melting cheese filled the air. In actuality, their first day of homework wasn't super hard. Howie and Liza had it done within twenty minutes. The only reason Melody and Eddie didn't have their own assignments finished in that amount of time was they kept annoying each other mercilessly. It was a reality the other two had gotten used to over the years. Eventually, the bickering pair managed to calm down enough to finish their algebra homework in time for the pizzas to finish cooking.

It was half way into his fourth slice of pepperoni and bacon pizza that Eddie's thoughts about their new "situation" finally exploded out of him.

"Why the hell did it have to be her?" he growled viciously. "Of all the damn math teachers in this country, why the hell did the school district have to hire her?! It's like I can never escape those damn eyes of hers."

Liza snorted around her own pizza slice while Howie tried to stifle a laugh in his can of Coca-Cola. The only person who managed to respond verbally was Melody, who was openly grinning at the stricken look on Eddie's face.

"Aw," she cooed, "looks like poor Eddie's stuck with the big bad teacher for the rest of eternity. How ever are you going to maintain your status as prank king if you can't face down a woman who's five-three in heels?"

That tore it. Howie sputtered loudly, Coke pouring down the front of his shirt as he choked on laughter and sugary soft drink. The blonde boy nearly fell down, only saved by Liza reaching over to resettle him. Eddie scowled, vicious and unyielding, before smacking Melody in the head with his shoe.

She was too busy laughing to complain about how it hurt.

"Stop laughing, you twat!" Eddie snapped. "Don't any of you think it sucks that our third grade teacher, the one who sucked the fun out of _everything_ , followed us to high school?"

He seemed to be fishing for an ally, but that really didn't register to the others. For a moment, they continued laughing. Then his words began registering, and the laughter faded to contemplative expressions, smiles quirking at the edges of their lips despite how hard they were thinking. There was no doubt that something about Mrs. Jeepers was a bit off. However, she had been a nice enough teacher, albeit a strict one. Eddie's distaste for her wasn't really warranted.

Then Howie's face split into a grin. "Remember when we all thought she was a vampire?"

Everyone laughed at that, including Eddie. "Oh, she still is a vampire! Can you guys not tell that?" the red-headed boy gasped, suddenly serious.

Liza shot him a funny look, freckles glaringly obvious on her pretty face. "Why on earth would you think that she's a vampire, Eddie?"

"Vampires are creatures that feed off of the living, right?" There were nods of confirmation and he continued. "Well, she continues to _leech_ the fun out of my life, like a goddamn fun-sucker. Therefore, Mrs. Jeepers is a vampire."

They were all used to Eddie's smartass comments. But that one took the cake. Everyone burst into fits of giggles, surrounded by pizza and soda and friendship. This was the best part of remaining friends, the little moments surrounded by nothing but acceptance and humor and wonderful things.

Finally, Melody managed to stop laughing long enough to gasp out. "I don't think vampires dress the way Mrs. Jeepers did today, Eddie."

Howie nodded enthusiastically in response. "Yeah; she looked really pretty. I know vampires are supposed to be attractive, but that took the cake."

A slightly horrified look appeared on Eddie's face, and he looked at his best bro with wide eyes. "Dude, if you ever say something like that again, we will no longer speak. That was gross."

"Hormones are a bitch, bud." Howie shrugged. "And you cannot deny that our algebra teacher is _fine_."

The red-headed boy shuddered, but the girls made noises of agreement. Melody fiddled with one of her cornrows and kept on grinning at Eddie's funny expression. "You have to admit, she looks great. I kept hearing a bunch of the other girls complaining because their boyfriends kept staring at the 'hot new algebra teacher' instead of paying attention to them."

Liza nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I really like her hair. I wish my hair would behave like hers did today. It was perfect seventh hour; I'm lucky if my hair stays in place for more than first period."

Abruptly, Eddie stood and moved to put his empty plate in the dishwasher. "Alright, can we get off this line of discussion? You guys are weirding me out, talking about the woman who made my life hell in elementary school like she's some sort of model. Can we just play Xbox now?"

"Sure, buddy, we can play some Xbox," Howie soothed. "It's the latest one. I've got the new _Call of Duty_ game. Ready to get your ass kicked?"

Immediately, Eddie's sour mood brightened, and he nodded. "You wish! Call of Duty's my shit! Even if Grams won't let me get a game system, I've honed my skills here. You're going down."

Melody sighed. "What is it with boys and gratuitous violence? Really?"

Another soft smile curled Liza's lips as she gathered up her papers and stuffed them back in her backpack. "Well, think of it this way. They can get there violence out of the way tonight, and tomorrow they can go with us to the foreign language club after school."

Both boys shot her a questioning look. "Excuse you?" Eddie asked. "I'm pretty sure that neither me nor Nerd-wad over here want to join any international language club with you guys."

"Oh, I don't know, I think Howie might appreciate the fact that Mrs. Jeepers is going to be teaching some Romanian for the next couple of months." Melody coaxed, smirking wickedly.

Howie perked up a little, eyes widening behind his glasses, and he cleared his throat nervously. "You know, Eddie, this language club thing might not be such a bad thing. We could go for the one meeting, then if we don't like it we don't have to go again."

"You're going to stare at Mrs. Jeepers, aren't you?" Eddie deadpanned.

The girls giggled hysterically as Howie blushed. "Maybe," he mumbled. "But, c'mon man, she's hot! Don't blame me, blame my damn hormones!"

Everyone burst into fits of laughter, and all thoughts on Mrs. Jeepers faded beneath the sound of shouting mixed with gunfire and copious amounts of Coca-Cola.

Tuesday was very much like Monday for Eddie and the others. Their days began with the same classes, notes were taken and subjects were absorbed with gusto – at least by Howie, Liza, and Melody – while hordes of teenagers swarmed through the halls in an attempt to survive their educational incarceration. Eddie managed to make it through the day on fire. Each new prank he attempted went smoother than the last. He managed to trip three kids in his class, spit-bomb his English teacher until he had to leave the room (without getting caught), and lockers all up and down the main hall were tossed into disarray.

By the time algebra rolled around, Eddie was feeling confident, ready to take on his teacher and her freaky green eyes.

The red-head plopped into his seat next to Howie, grinning smugly. "How's your day been, Nerd-wad? Mine's been great."

Howie sighed heavily, not quite ready for his best friend to start his frenzy of pranks and Eddie-ness. Some of the other students looked over in shock at Eddie's somewhat insult. But the blonde boy was used to it by now, knowing that his friend meant no insult with the names. In Eddie's language, an insult equated to a term of endearment.

"I've been fine, bro. But I would still watch your step," Howie warned. "Remember how well she controls a room? You didn't say a word yesterday. I don't want you getting in over your head."

Scoffing, Eddie waved off the other boy's concerns. "Everything'll be cool. She's not all that scary now that we're older. Besides, I was just surprised to see her yesterday, that's all."

Just as Howie opened his mouth to voice a retort, Liza and Melody plopped down into the seats next to them. A fresh bruise had formed on the corner of Melody's mouth, but she and Liza both had matching grins on their faces.

"Ready for another wonderful day in the presence of Mrs. Jeepers, guys?" Liza teased.

Eddie stuck his tongue out at the blonde girl. "I'm going to make her wish she'd never stayed in Bailey City. That woman's going down!"

The chatter around them abruptly died, and the quartet looked up to see the sudden focus of everyone's attention. Mrs. Jeepers had ghosted gracefully through the door, long red hair pulled into a neat bun even as a few pieces framed her pale face. She was dressed to the nines once more, this time in a deep purple dress that flowed around her knees. Her signature brooch was pinned on her shoulder. It glinted in the harsh fluorescent light.

Whatever courage Eddie had mustered up throughout the day died the moment Mrs. Jeepers locked her unnatural verdant gaze on him.

A knowing smirk – something Eddie once called her "half-smile" - curved her pink-painted lips as the Transylvanian woman finally came to a stop at the front of the room. She cleared her throat, and not a single person in the room dared to try speaking.

"I hope you have all finished yesterday's assignment," Mrs. Jeepers crooned softly. "Please pass them to the front of the room. We will get today's lesson started once they have all been collected."

Only the sound of rustling papers broke the uneasy silence in the room. Eddie passed his completed paper up towards Howie, unable to look directly into the bright green eyes that haunted him. After a few minutes, all papers had been collected, safely nestled in Mrs. Jeepers' delicate hands. Briefly, she perused them, and they all could see her mentally counting how many assignments had been returned to her.

When she smiled in satisfaction, the class released a collective sigh of relief. To be completely honest, no one quiet realized why this pretty, petite Transylvanian woman was so intimidating. All the freshmen knew was that _nobody_ wanted to see what she could do if angered.

"Excellent work, class," she praised softly. "Now, if you would all be so kind, open your textbooks and turn to page 42."

With that, the students got down to business. For the next forty-five minutes, no one said a word, too busy taking meticulous notes to really do anything except listen to the deceptively soothing lilt of Mrs. Jeepers' Transylvanian accent. Then, when the red-headed woman caught sight of the weary looks in her student's eyes, she brought the lesson to an end. Relaxed and totally in control, it seemed as though their new teacher hadn't a care in the world. Of course, everyone knew _that_ was a huge stinking lie. However, their tense shoulders relaxed somewhat in response to her soothing posture.

"Well, it seems we could all use a break from studying. You have all done very well today, and as it is only the second day of classes, I will be more than happy to allow a time for us all to get acquainted with one another." Her voice was soft, almost playful, and Eddie found himself dumbfounded by how perfectly at ease his former elementary school instructor seemed.

Mrs. Jeepers folded her arms across her chest, leaning against the edge of her desk with a knowing smirk. "As many of you are aware, I come from the country of Romania, specifically from the region of Transylvania. A few of my students even traveled with me to my home country one summer. But, considering most of you were very young when this was previously explained, all geography lessons had to be kept fairly simple."

Howie blushed inexplicably at the mention of their excursion to Romania. The blonde boy sunk lower in his chair, cheeks burning and eyes shielded by the glare on his thick-rimmed glasses. Frowning, Melody and Liza quizzed him silently with accusing eyes. But he refused to answer, gaze locked onto the red-headed she devil at the front of the room.

Electricity seemed to gather around the petite woman at the center of the room. She was _magnetic_ , drawing all focus without any visible effort. It was disconcerting and intriguing all at once; however, Eddie knew better than to interrupt a story that could potentially provide some information he could use.

In other words, the resident prankster was trying to dig up dirt on the one woman who could keep him in line.

"Now, I grew up on the outskirts of a small village very near to the Gaura Dracului River, in the Făgăraș Mountains **.** My village was very close to the city of Sibiu, although I do not expect any of you to know exactly where that is. Sibiu is surrounded by many mountain ranges, so like many people who lived in nearby villages, my family and I often traveled into the city. It was a peaceful life, one for which I am fortunate to have had."

A wistful smile curled their teacher's pink-stained lips, and she commented wryly, "Poenari Castle, legendary home of Vlad Tepes – or Vlad the Impaler, as you might know him – was one of my favorite places to visit as a child."

Eddie leaned forward on his elbows, ever so slightly enthralled by the way she wove her tale. The green eyes he had always known as clear and sharp were misted over by memories. Somewhere deep in his chest though, Eddie knew that she was just as aware of her surroundings as ever. Memories were only a film through which to see the world.

Voice dropping to a near whisper, Mrs. Jeepers continued speaking. "Jeepers is obviously not a Romanian name. My former students might remember me saying that my name has been changed to difficulty in its pronunciation. My real name is actually Adrianna Vladimirescue."

Stunned and slightly confused looks filled the room, followed by an extraordinary occurance. Mrs. Jeepers actually freakin' _smiled_. It was a true grin, something that none of the freshmen thought would ever grace her pretty fine-boned face. Her teeth were pearly white and shining; however, despite his shock and awe Eddie couldn't help but notice how very sharp her eyeteeth were. They looked like well-honed razors, meticulously kept and shrieking danger with tiny voices.

"Please don't hurt yourselves trying to spell that," Mrs. Jeepers teased gently. "Romanian spellings are often very different from traditional English ones."

For a moment, there was no movement, nothing at all but shocked faces and disbelief. No one said anything. Not even Eddie, who was always looking to cause trouble, made a sound. Then, Howie tentatively raised his hand. Mrs. Jeepers raised an eyebrow, gesturing for the nervous-looking blonde boy to ask whatever it was he intended to ask.

"I was wondering where you went to school? In my world-cultures class last year, we were told that many eastern European countries often didn't teach English in their curriculums, so I was wondering where you learned to speak and teach in English."

An approving smile curved the red-head's lips, and she nodded in acknowledgement. "That is an excellent question, Howie, one I'm all too happy to answer. I received my degree in education from the University of Sibiu, most commonly known as Lucian Blaga. As for my English skills, I was fortunate enough to have a family who could afford a tutor, and I was taught your language from a very young age. This enabled me to get a job here in America."

Another girl with chestnut colored eyes and a glaringly bright tank-top raised her hand. "What made you decide to come to the United States?"

"Eastern Europe is not nearly as open to opportunities as your country, and I've always had a very strong sense of adventure. While I originally intended to stay only a few years, my life here in Bailey City was so wonderful, I made plans to stay indefinitely. However, I retain my Romanian citizenship as well." Her voice had raised back to a normal conversational tone by now; however, there was still a feeling of nostalgia around each word that came out of her mouth.

This time, Eddie surprised everyone by raising his own hand to ask an actual question. "Is there any way to retain your Romanian citizenship and receive American citizenship too?"

Mrs. Jeepers, who had yet to quit smiling gently, shook her head in response. "Dual-citizenship is a very rare thing. And were I to give up my Romanian citizenship, I could never get it back."

The class discussion went on in this manner for a time, and eventually the bell rang to dismiss everyone from school. Eddie gathered his books along with everyone else. He filed out of the dull room without complaint. Not a word left his lips, not even a sound. Only a deep, brooding silence followed the red-haired boy as he exited Bailey High to wait for his friends on the curb. Something about Mrs. Jeepers' little speech troubled him, but he couldn't quite place what. Maybe it was the way her voice lowered so dramatically or the way her eyes had misted over at the thought of deeply wooded pine-forests and towering mountains. Perhaps it was because he _knew_ where she came from, what kind of a life she had lived.

As Melody and Liza came up, both girls on either side of Howie as they explained exactly why the athletic black girl was covered from head to toe in bruises, a realization came upon Eddie. He gulped, finding the thought a tad more disturbing than what it probably warranted.

 _Mrs. Jeepers had never taken her eyes off of Howie or him. Not_ _ **once**_ _while she spoke of Romania._

Shaken, Eddie rushed to keep up with his friends, eyes glazed over even as they discussed which movies were playing at the local theater. Their plans were to see something scary, something to chill them to the bone before they all headed home to hide under their covers. But Eddie, for some inexplicable reason, couldn't shake the feeling that there was an actual danger hiding underneath their noses.

Danger with bright red hair and piercing green eyes.

That evening went much like any other. Eddie did his homework to the "best" of his abilities – meaning he did just well enough to scrap by without showing up on his Grams' radar – and then kicked his old soccer ball around the yard for an hour or two. The rest of the night was spent zoning out in front of the television to the tune of an old _Scooby Doo_ cartoon.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Welcome back! Hopefully you made it through this far and enjoyed the ride. The beginning of the story might be fairly slow in all honesty, as I'm trying to establish the world - specifically Eddie's world - before diving into actual action-y bits.**_

 ** _Have I ever told ya'll how much I love Mrs. Jeepers? Because I do. She is a swol swol cherub child with a sharp wit and hidden secrets in my mind, and I love her to pieces. I love Eddie, too. Just because I imagine that Eddie - at least, high school Eddie - would be a lot like me. An asshole with anxiety issues that no one ever sees because you're they're too busy looking at how much of a dick you are._**

 ** _Again, leave me a review in the little white box in the crotch below because reviews are cocaine._**

 ** _They fuel the plot-demons._**

 ** _With that tasteless joke, I bid you all a fond farewell! BlackRosePoetry_**


	3. Fractured Memories, Brotherly Affection

**Chapter Three: Fractured Memories and Brotherly Affection**

The next several months were fairly uneventful, even by Bailey City standards.

Eddie Matthews had officially been crowned Prank King of Bailey High, taking his levels of delinquency to levels previously unheard of outside of those kids on a one-way trip to juvenile hall. Freshmen – save his friends – gave him a wide berth lest they be the victim of his rather wicked sense of humor. Sophomores and juniors looked at him in a way one might bear witness to a horrific car accident. Seniors gave him a grudging amount of respect, dosed heavily with annoyance at his seeming invincibility.

As far as the other three went, things ran in different directions for each.

Melody, ever the athlete, had become a varsity starter on the soccer team. She often bore battle wounds, whether they be from rough matches or particularly brutal basketball practices. The other girls came to identify her with a sharp tongue and a quick wit, combined with a competitive streak that stretched on for miles.

Howie remained very much the academic. His grades were impeccable, classes at a higher than those of a normal incoming freshman. No one ever saw him without at least one book cradled and open in his arms, a look of concentration in the blue eyes hidden behind his glasses. Teachers adored him. Jocks targeted him, save those unfortunate enough to have been caught by Eddie afterwards. Girls found him cute in that geeky pretty-boy way one would show to their parents.

Liza had always been the pretty one. She was friendly and bright, vivacious in personality once you got past her initial shy demeanor. Not a single person – with the exception of Carey, who had been jealous of Liza since the third grade – who knew the bubbly blonde disliked her. She was just too sweet, "cavity inducing" as Eddie teasingly put it once.

The only thing that wasn't _normal_ per-se was Mrs. Jeepers.

No other teacher in Bailey High was as feared and awed as the Transylvanian algebra instructor. The hush that followed her in the halls? Supernatural in its origins, much to the chagrin of her peers. She remained as Eddie and the others had remembered her: beautiful, soft-spoken, and undeniably frightening. Her control over a room was as unparalleled as it was effortless. All that it took to line out an unruly high-school student (particularly football team members) was a flash of those emerald-green eyes, followed by a soft command. No yelling, no threats. Nothing but the silent threat of her unnatural gaze and the gentle lilt of her accent.

Eddie still hadn't worked up the courage to try anything in her class. But he didn't know _why_.

Something just didn't add up this time. There was an element present that wasn't there in the third-grade, something almost _deadly_ behind her lazy smirks and graceful movements. And, despite the fact that every other teacher had caved to him at this point, he couldn't make himself pull anything around Mrs. Jeepers anymore.

It all came back to that second day of school, the tale of Romania and the misty look in her bright green eyes.

And sometimes, late at night, Eddie found himself travelling back to that week spent in Hauntly Castle. It was a peaceful time, days filled with exploration and the company of his best friends. There had been no nightmares of belts and screaming to haunt him there, not that he was aware of. Sleep had come easy nestled under his heavy duvet, surrounded by thick stone even as wolves howled to a heavy moon outside. On those trips back in time, sometimes he caught glimpses of events he didn't quite remember. Flashes of bright green eyes and a lilting voice singing to him in a language that he didn't understand. Ghost-sensations of fingers running through his hair, the same cool fingers that brushed tears off his cheeks.

But that couldn't have been right.

He hadn't had any nightmares in Romania, right?

The questions gnawed away at Eddie for weeks. August faded into September. September likewise gave way to October, and soon the burly teenage prankster found himself shivering as Halloween ran its bony fingers down his spine. Grams had bought him a heavy jacket for Christmas last year, but it was already too small for him. And they didn't have the money for another one at the moment. So shivering and heavy sweatshirts would be okay, at least for a little while.

Rubbing his hands together to keep them warm, Eddie waited outside of Howie's house for his best friend to leave. It was guys' night, and there was a new _Expendables_ movie out at the movie theater. But if Howie didn't get his ass in gear, they were gonna goddamn _miss_ the glory of Sylvester Stallone!

Finally, after what seemed like hours, Howie exited his front door, calling out a good-bye to his dad.

"Jesus, bro, you're like a herd of turtles stampeding through peanut butter!" Eddie complained. "We're going to be late if your ass doesn't get in gear!"

Howie brushed him off. "Sorry. Dad brought one of his research projects home and he wanted some help with it. I almost didn't get away, so you're lucky we're going to the movies at all."

With that, the two teenagers began making their way down the sidewalk laughing like idiots while the wind howled in bare trees above them. The Moon was full and bright overhead. Apparently, despite the vehement exclamations of global warning being spouted by scientists everywhere, winter decided to come early to Bailey City. It was _freezing_ , and Eddie couldn't stop shivering. Even with three sweat-shirts and a tee layered on, nothing could keep out the wind's chill from biting at his flesh. By the time they reached the theater, both boys had bright red faces and the taller red-head was shivering violently non-stop.

Howie shook his shaggy blonde head in annoyance as he walked up to the ticket vendor. "Two for _Expendables_ , please."

The vendor, who was a pretty brunette senior that Howie had seen around, shot him a disinterested stare. "That'll be sixteen dollars even. Your movie's in 2D, and it'll be the third door on your left down the hall."

Nodding, Howie took the tickets from her hands gratefully, and he gestured for Eddie to follow him. Still shivering, Eddie made no comment as they stepped up to the snack counter. He did manage to crack a grin when he saw they had his favorite Sour Patch Kids in a share sized box, and the red-head pulled out the ten that his Grams had allowed for that night's excursion. His hands were still shaking, though, and Howie shot him a concerned look.

"Dude, are you okay? You're still shivering and it's, like, eighty degrees in here."

Eddie didn't bother to respond. He just smiled charmingly at the college-aged girl working the snack counter, and leaned his elbows on the warped glass case. "I'll take a share-size pack of Sour Patch Kids and a medium Dr. Pepper, ma'am. Oh! And a pack of Skittles, too."

The girl, who had blushed under Eddie's charm, quickly gathered all of his various snacks and rang them in. "Six-fifty is your total, sir. We're having a special where you get two medium drinks for just a dollar more. Would you like to get another soda?"

Brown eyes looked back, sparkling mischievously at how easy it was to break someone's composure, and the red-head drawled, "Do you want anything, bud?"

Howie rolled his eyes and adjusted his slightly-fogged glasses. "Yeah, I'll take a Coke. If you pay for my drink, I'll pay for popcorn."

The rest of the transaction seemed to go off smoothly, Eddie shamelessly flirting with the flustered girl behind the counter while Howie tried to keep from laughing out loud at how ridiculous his best friend was. At least ten minutes before show time found them both seated comfortably in the old movie theater seats, chatting happily and munching on their sugar-coated goodies.

The movie was brilliant, full of explosions and dry humor. Movie references that both boys seemed to thrive on abounded, and they laughed until their sides hurt at some of the over-the-top action-y bits which composed the entire film. Sylvester Stallone would forever be Eddie's favorite action hero, Arnold Schwarzenegger be damned. As the credits rolled, the teenagers were chattering along about what parts of the movie were their favorites. In fact, the walk home was full of happy chatter and camaraderie, despite the freezing wind that blasted in from the northwest.

Well, they were chatting happily until Eddie brought up Mrs. Jeepers.

Typical.

"Bro, you know how our Satan-worshiping algebra teacher brought up Transylvania the second day in class?" he began, eyes suddenly conveying a strange mixture of confusion and curiosity.

Howie frowned slightly, but he answered flippantly anyway. "Sure, dude. You wouldn't speak for, like, three hours after that. I just assumed that you caught sight of her cleavage like I had. But what about it?"

Eddie made a slightly disgusted face. "What have I said about referencing her body? It's gross and creepy. Anyway, I wanted to know if something happened while we were on that trip. I don't remember anything in particular happening while we were there, but she wouldn't take her eyes off of us. It's like she _knows_ something I don't, and it's been chapping my ass for a solid month."

The sudden change in Howie's relaxed posture was instantaneous and startling. He blanched white, shoulders going stiff and rigid, eyes wide with some unknown panic. He swallowed thickly, fiddling with his thick-rimmed glasses out of habit. For a moment, Eddie nearly thought that his best friend wouldn't answer the question at all, just sit there and stare at him as though there was something tremendously horrendous that happened that fateful summer.

Then he managed to find words.

"You remember when we were really little and you used to get nightmares about your dad? The really bad ones where you'd scream yourself hoarse and beat things?" Howie whispered.

Eddie paled himself, fists clenching. He only remembered bits and pieces of those nightmares. A flash of dark hair. Screaming. Pain in various parts of his body while the belt came down _again_ and _again_. But there was really nothing solid there for his mind to grasp and remember. The red-headed freshman nodded stiffly and gestured for his best friend to continue.

"Well, that summer they seemed to come back. You didn't scream that first night; although, you did nearly brain me a couple of times during the night. When we woke up the next morning, you didn't remember having the nightmare. Mrs. Jeepers noticed the bruises and asked what was wrong. So I told her the truth. Dude, she got really really upset for some reason." Howie sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose as memories assaulted him. "The next night, you started screaming. I tried to wake you up, but you just punched me. Then Mrs. Jeepers came in and she put you on her lap."

Dark blue eyes looked seriously into chocolate brown. "It was like someone shot you full of anesthesia, dude. You just relaxed right into her. I was so tired, I don't really remember what happened after that. All I know is that she came in almost every night and stayed with us until nearly dawn. You wouldn't sleep if she didn't."

Eddie sat there gaping, eyes wide and mouth agape with horror.

She had stopped his nightmares. _Mrs. Jeepers_ had managed to calm him down in the middle of one of those nightmares, the woman he despised, the only fucking person who could get him to behave in any way, shape, or form.

Oh, God, he'd _cuddled_ her!

Another cold blast of wind shot up Eddie's spine and he gasped, unable to stop shivering even though Howie had long-since loaned him his coat. Howie suddenly placed a comforting hand on his best friend's shoulder. The full moon shone brightly overhead, and the wind blowing through the trees sounded like mocking laughter to the taller boy's ears. This was so wrong, so very, very wrong.

"Dude, calm down!" Howie urged. "It's all cool, really. The only reason I haven't told you before now is because she made me swear not to."

Eddie stopped shaking. "What?"

The blonde nerd sighed, shuddering as another blast of icy wind whistled down the deserted streets of their neighborhood. "C'mon; let's go inside. I'll explain, and you can warm up instead of freezing your ass out here. 'kay?"

Dumbly, Eddie acquiesced to the insistence, and he allowed the smaller boy to lead him inside the modest suburban home. Inside smelled like burnt meatloaf - most likely another one of Mr. Jones's failed cooking endeavors - mixed with a normal fresh linen scent. He plopped heavily onto the couch, staring into space or a moment before burying his head in his calloused hands.

"What the fucking fucker fuck?" he groaned. "Fuck fuckity fucking fuck!"

Howie chuckled lightly to himself at Eddie's rapid-fire use of the word fuck in all its forms. Completely over the top? Yes. Unneccessary? You bet!

But was it so very typically Eddie? Oh, hell to the yes.

"Dude, calm down. Really, it's not as bad as you think it is," Howie soothed. "It was only four nights, and all she did was keep you from beating the hell out of me in your sleep."

Eddie shot his brother in all but blood a glare that could've frozen Hell over. "Really? Then why would you agree not to tell me anything? Jesus, dude, you're like my brother! How the hell could you just _not_ tell me something like that? For years! Fucking **years** , Howie!"

Raising his hands in supplication, Howie looked sadly the angry teenager. "I lied because I knew that you'd react like this. Believe it or not, Mrs. Jeepers isn't this horrendous crone like you'd like to make her out to be. She was genuinely worried about you because of these dreams. It was all I could do not to cave under the third-degree she gave me about them. Look, I know you're upset, but please try to think about it logically. For me?"

For a moment, all was quiet save for the sound of Mr. Jones snoring in the other room. Eddie stared off into space, dark eyes misty and still clouded with a small amount of anger. The knuckles on his hands were white, grip tight as the tried to hold on to something he didn't really quite understand yet. Howie fidgeted in his seat in response to the tension surrounding them.

Then Eddie sighed and it was like someone had deflated a balloon.

"Sorry, bro. I guess I just. . . well, I'm not used to people seeing me when I get like that. It's kind of embarrassing, especially when you throw my least favorite teacher in the entire world into the mix." He sighed again.

Howie clapped him on the shoulder, smiling gently. "Apology accepted. Like you said, we're brothers. I may not have liked being brained, but I probably should've told you before know, Mrs. Jeepers be damned."

A few more moments passed before Eddie finally worked up the energy (and the nerve) to make the trek back to his house. He waved goodbye before taking off at a brisk jog down the deserted sidewalk. The Moon was slightly shrouded behind clouds by now, just barely giving off enough light to see by. For not the first time in his life, Eddie thanked whatever powers there may be for electricity and street-lights. It was freezing out, the skin on his arms turning red from the wind blasting over it.

But his head still felt fuzzy. Like there was something he needed to remember but couldn't, and that feeling was starting to get to him.

Another chill shot down his spine. But this wasn't a chill from the cold.

He was being watched.

Dark eyes peered carefully into the gloomy surroundings. There were no people, no curious eyes staring out of back-lit windows. Nothing but him and the sound of his own pounding heartbeat. But that feeling of being watched just wouldn't go away.

Eddie picked up his pace to a sprint, bounding inside his grandmother's home and bolting the door behind him. Adrenaline pounded through his veins. There was something _watching_ and he didn't like it.

He almost wished he was back in Romania. Or in algebra.

Nothing would fuck with Mrs. Jeepers, not even creeps who stalked teenage boys in the middle of the night.

* * *

That night, Eddie dreamed for the first time in almost four years. He dreamed of screaming, of fights between his father and . . . someone he couldn't place. She sounded desperate and scared, his mind sluggish while it tried to clarify the blurred face. Dad was super angry. But there was no booze on the air, not in this dream, only the smell of cool jasmine and cinnamon wafting on the air.

He was small, why was he so small?

Maybe he was a baby. Yeah, that sounded about right.

The argument heated. Dad was throwing things, screaming, and he didn't like it. But the woman ( _Mom, his mind supplied_ ) didn't so much as flinch in the face of his temper. She hissed back in a tone that brokered no argument. Eddie's blood ran cold.

 _He knew that voice._

Terror and loud voices didn't combine well, and so baby dream-Eddie did what babies did best. He began wailing, flinging little fists here and there while his parents fought on. But it seemed to do the trick. The woman - _Mom_ \- turned to look at him. He couldn't see her face. All he could see was dark red hair and pale skin, much like his own, and the smell of jasmine and cinnamon only intensified as she approached his tiny body. The tears began to slow as a pair of slender arms lifted him.

He knew this feeling.

This was a _wonderful_ feeling.

"Shh, baby," cooed a familiar voice. There was an accent but he could understand it, and her voice was so very pretty. Eddie sagged into her touch, burying his little nose in the crook of a moon-pale neck. Her hair felt like silk around his fingers.

He could feel a smile curl her lips above him, and a gentle hand stroked through his hair. "That's it _copil_ , I've got you. _Mama te-a._ _Și_ _Niciodată nu voi_ _da drumul_."

Eddie didn't understand what she said. It wasn't English, not by any stretch of the imagination, but her tone was warm and he felt incredibly safe. So he just cooed and sagged against her body. His father was speaking dully in the background, deep voice rumbling in the recesses of his tiny chest. His mother's hold on him tightened fractionally in response to something he said, and Eddie felt his face pull into a frown.

"You'd let her run you off like this? What kind of a mother abandons her husband and son."

 _Abandon_? That was what Grams had said his mother had done, what his father had blamed him for years. But as soon as that last statement finished leaving his father's lips, Eddie felt his mother's entire body stiffen. A blood-curdling hiss escaped right next to his ear, and he whimpered quietly. But soon his mother began bouncing in place, and the soothing motion calmed him down.

"Don' you _ever_ say I'm abandoning you two!" she growled. "Do you know what my sister will do if she found out about you? About him? You two wouldn't survive for more than ten minutes were she to find you. I'm leaving to keep you _safe_ , you selfish idiot."

His father shifted. "We'd be safe if you were here, Adri. _Please_ stay."

"I can't. Ioana is much stronger than I could ever hope to be. The only way to keep you safe is for me to leave."

She sounded so sad. So _broken_.

 _Maybe Grams and Dad were wrong. . . ._

* * *

Eddie woke up on Monday confused.

Was that a dream or a memory, because none of it made any fucking sense. Jesus, what the hell was in the water in Bailey City? The entire walk to school was filled with anxiety and contemplation. The wind blew freezing down his spine; however, Eddie was too side-tracked to really pay attention to the fact that his skin was turning red. He had long lost feeling in his face and fingers.

None of it mattered, though.

Because he couldn't get the smell of jasmine and cinnamon out of his nose, and the cool voice that spoke so beautifully was on replay in his cranium.

The day passed in a blur with Howie shooting him concerned looks while Melody and Liza tried everything in their power to maintain a sense of normalcy. Eddie just moved through the hours on autopilot. No pranks were pulled. No nasty comments made. The teachers thanked whatever deity there was above that their resident Prank King was in a funk while seniors complained about their main source of entertainment being absent.

Everything was a water-colored cluster fuck of confusion that Eddie just couldn't seem to find the answer to.

At least, he didn't have a lead until seventh-period Algebra.

He plopped into his usual seat, homework spread out in front of him as he stared off into space. Moments after he sat, Howie took the space next to him, blue eyes concerned through black-rimmed glass. The smaller blonde boy put a hand on his friend's broad shoulder, giving it a light shake to catch his attention. Eddie looked up listlessly.

"Dude, are you okay?" Howie whispered. "You've not been yourself all day. The girls and I are starting to get worried."

Eddie blinked a couple of times to clear the fog. When he spoke, his voice was rough from not using it all day. "I had a dream last night. It was weird."

The ashen look on Howie's face spoke volumes. "Oh, bro, was this one of those kick-boxing nightmares like you used to have. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you all that last night. I really shouldn't have."

For once, Eddie was quick to cut Howie off before he took off on a guilt-ridden rant like he normally did. "No, it wasn't one of those dreams. It was more like a memory. One of those memories that are so old that they don't seem _real_ , you know what I mean?" Howie nodded, gesturing for Eddie to continue. "I had to have been really, really young. Like a baby. And my Dad was arguing with some lady. Dude, I think I remembered the night before my mom left."

Howie's eyes went wide. He ignored Liza and Melody as they sat down, leaning in close to Eddie. "How? You were, what, two and a half when your Mom left? It shouldn't be possible for you to remember back that far!"

A confused shrug was the only response given. Eddie stared at the white-painted cemented block wall contemplatively. "I couldn't see her face. It was all blurry and distorted. But I remember her voice. I remember what she smelled like: jasmine and cinnamon. And she spoke a different language, I think, something I couldn't understand. I dunno what's going on, Nerd-wad. It's like everything went all topsy-turvy in my head."

"What did she say?" Liza interrupted. Her pretty freckled face was deathly serious, baby-blues focused solely on Eddie as other freshmen filed into the room.

Eddie frowned. The words were foreign, different to his English-oriented mind. But they tasted familiar on his tongue, like he knew how to speak them at one point and simply forgot. "I think she called me ' _copil_ '.Then she said a couple of sentences. I think one was ' _Mama te-a_ ', but I don't remember the other one. Why?"

For a moment, Liza said nothing, rolling the new information over in her mind a couple of times before choosing her next words. Class was about to start, but this needed to come out, especially if it could snap Eddie out of the funk he'd been in all day. "Melody and I have been in the foreign language club after school for two months now. We haven't learned enough, but I know enough to know what language that is."

Mrs. Jeepers walked in the door, dressed immaculately as per the norm. Her dark red hair was pulled into a high ponytail, a few strands framing a pale face. A green silk blouse accented her petite frame, as did a pair of black slacks. Her height was augmented by a pair of green patent-leather pumps.

"From what you said, your mother was speaking Romanian."

Eddie's world shattered as the words left Liza's mouth.

Not just because she had told him his mother spoke the very same language that his least-favorite teacher spoke. That would be horrendous, but not enough to break him. What made the earth tilt on its axis and time freeze in its tracks was what happened as Mrs. Jeepers - in all her pale glory - drifted past his desk to begin the lecture.

 _She smelled like jasmine and cinnamon. . . ._


	4. Hidden Anxiety and Needed Questions

**Chapter 4: Hidden Anxiety and Needed Questions**

 _She smelled like jasmine and cinnamon. . ._

Eddie's dark eyes followed Mrs. Jeepers to the front of the room, wide and questioning and panicked. This couldn't be happening. Not now, not ever, not really. This wasn't a possibility, was it? Could she be the one person he had wanted - the one person he had _needed_ \- for all these years? Or was this just some god's sick way of fucking with him on one of the shittiest days the freshman had had in a long while?

All he could do was stare at her, trace delicate features while the petite Romanian woman conversed with one of his classmates over some of their homework problems.

And the longer he stared the more the pieces of his fractured memories seemed to smooth into place.

Mrs. Jeepers was built just like the woman from the dream. She had delicate hands with long tapered fingers, her movements graceful as she demonstrated where the student had gone wrong in his equation. Her skin was milky white, like moonstone, and the teenager could smell her jasmine-cinnamon scent from his seat despite the fact that she stood all the way across the room. If he looked closely, he could distinguish some of the things in her that he hadn't noticed before. Like her cheekbones. Most teenage boys didn't bother to look at a woman's cheekbones, preferring to instead at her "assets", but now was not the time for that.

Her cheekbones, high and delicate and sharp but delicate at the same time, were the same ones that stared at him from the bathroom mirror every morning.

There was a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, and Eddie dropped his head to the desk as pressure built behind his eyes.

This was _so_ not happening right now.

"Alright class, quiet down," Mrs. Jeepers cooed. Memories, fractured bits of Romanian with scattered half-forgotten meanings and lullabies, flashed through Eddie's brain. "We will begin the lesson in our books today. Turn to page 394."

Eddie's hands shook violently as shards of long-forgotten memories began flashing back to him. He _remembered_ things. There were memories of happy times, bright sunny days in summer spent at the park. Nights spent tucked into his mother's chest while cool fingers ( _long and tapered and delicate_ ) rubbed small circles on his back, as a delicate voice hummed on still air. He remembered long-winded arguments where both parties refused to back down. He remembered screaming matches that would last for hours, shrieks of rage and hurt culminating in his father pounding on the locked bedroom door while his mother _cried and cried_ into his hair.

He shouldn't remember these things.

He was too young, too stupid to remember bits of a life that long-since died.

Swallowing bile that had risen in his throat, Eddie turned to the page his teacher ( _Mother, his mind helpfully supplied_ ) had specified. The lesson was fairly simple, basic equations. And despite his deep-seated loathing for the subject, Eddie was actually quite good at math. So, thankfully, that gave the fourteen year old time to process what in the hell was going through his mind.

With each new memory, each new shattered part of a whole, came a different piece of understanding. Granted, most of that understanding was devoted solely to processing and translating Romanian. But the translations gave him a perspective on his mother that had never been there before.

 _"Te iubesc, copilul meu_ ": it meant "I love you, my baby."

 _"_ _Iubita"_ : sweetheart

 _"_ _Micul meu print"_ : My little prince

How did he _know_ this shit? It didn't make any sense. Why remember now, why remember after all these years when the memory of screaming and bright red hair had all but faded from his consciousness. The nightmares no longer came. Grams no longer woke him up in the middle of the night to make him stop shrieking, crying. Until now, he couldn't close his eyes and conjure up a single memory of a mother, of a woman who called him baby and snuggled him and kissed his belly in a way that made him giggle helplessly.

Now all he could see was _her_.

Howie kept nudging him through the entire lesson, blue eyes wide and concerned. The girls wisely kept their distance, busying themselves with notes while they shot surreptitious glances out of the corners of their eyes. Seventh hour passed in a blur of half-thawed memories and abstract math concepts, Eddie stewing in a mixture of revelation and denial. His skull was pounding in time with his heartbeat.

Everything _hurt._

The bell couldn't ring fast enough.

What Eddie didn't notice, however, could have potentially hurt him. In the haze of pain and memories, the freshman couldn't see how Mrs. Jeepers kept directing her gaze towards him. Worry reflected for brief instances in bright emerald orbs. Her voice didn't waver, though, maintaining a steady tone while outlining their next homework assignment.

Finally, after about three seconds and an eternity, the bell rang. Eddie sprang from his seat, mind reeling, and hurried to pack all of his things into his book bag. He didn't even bother to finish zipping up his tattered bag before bolting for the exit, eyes wide with a mixture of panic, agony, and relief. Someone called his name - probably Liza, if the high-pitched worry was anything to go by - but he didn't stop. There was homework to be done and mysteries to solve and his head fucking hurt.

Eddie started running the moment he stepped out of the high-school doors. He didn't stop running until he reached the front door to his Grams's house, heart pounding as sweat poured over his spine and air _whooshed!_ from his lungs in great pants.

What the literal fuck was happening?

The fourteen year old crashed through the front door in a panic, haphazardly depositing his bag on the old kitchen table. He groaned and pressed his palms to his eyelids as tears welled up behind them. His head continued to pound with demented drums, memories still spiraling through his cranium. All he wanted to do was take a nap. But he couldn't. Not until there were some answers to his questions.

Staggering, Eddie made his way into the living room, where his grandmother was watching _Jeopardy_! in her favorite recliner. The older woman looked up when he approached, dark brown eyes sharp and wary when she caught sight of his expression. "You got home early, boy," she stated gruffly. "Where's the fire?"

Eddie swallowed. A feeling of unexplained anger shot through his core, and he clenched his jaw in response, fingernails digging into his palms. "Nothing. Just have a headache. I'm gonna go lay down."

With that, he pounded up the worn stairs to his bedroom, sweat covering his body while fury tensed every muscle. He slammed open the battered wooden door that guarded his safe place, slamming it shut with equal force. Tears pricked dark chocolate eyes. He pressed his palms to his eyelids as his book bag dropped to the floor with a muffled thump. Everything _hurt_ and everything was fucking _wrong_ and he just wanted some goddamn answers.

Why did this all happen _now_?

Confused, heartbroken, and exhausted, Edward Anton Matthews did something he hadn't done since the fourth grade.

He sat on his bed, alone and bleeding in his mind, and he cried until there were no tears left to cry. His Grams didn't come to get him for supper, didn't ask questions, just sat in her own little world as she always did. Finally, when his head stopped pounding and the tears on his face had dried into itchy canyons, Eddie fell asleep to the sound of silence. _Hello darkness, my old friend. . ._

That night, he dreamed.

* * *

 _There was something wrong. . ._

 _Eddie couldn't quite put his little finger on it. But something wasn't quite right in his home. Everything was in place, all the toys put away as they had been before bedtime, all the stuffed animals lined up on his bed. The early morning was eerily silent, just before it turned light. This was his favorite time, just before Mr. Sun came up over the trees to say hello. Everything felt quiet and comfortable._

 _Then why didn't he feel okay?_

 _Determined to figure out what was wrong, Eddie pulled his pudgy body out of bed, easily slipping over the safety bars his daddy had installed on the side of his big-boy bed. Really, they were too flimsy to keep him out. All he had to do was lift them up._

 _(but how was he able to do that? what is this? where is he? WHAT'S GOING ON?!)_

 _The hardwood floors weren't very cold, not when his feet were covered in fluffy Batman pajamas, so Eddie did what he did best. He went to cause some trouble. Or, at least, he wanted to find his Mommy so the weird feeling would go away. He could hear Daddy snoring when he stepped into the hall. The sound was funny, like a bear roaring. It made him giggle._

 _Another noise caught his attention, though._

 _It was coming from the living room._

 _Eddie was a brave little boy, a very brave little boy. If it was a monster, he'd fight it and keep Mommy and Daddy safe. And if he lost. . . well, he was sure Mommy wouldn't let him lose. His mommy was the best person ever, the bravest, and she loved him. She told him so every day. "_ _Te iubesc, copilul meu. . ."_

 _Little tongue poking out between his lips, Eddie toddled his way down the hall towards the sound. It was a weird noise, like crying only quieter. It made him frown because he didn't like crying, especially when someone was crying in his house. That just meant bad things would happen later._

 _(he didn't know how right he was)_ _Eddie rounded the corner in the living room. His Mommy was sitting on the couch in her pajamas, head down. Her shoulders kept shaking. The sound was coming from her. Panic welled in the tiny boy's chest. Had he made his mama cry?_

 _Without thinking, Eddie bolted forward, colliding with his Mommy's legs and squeezing them with all the force in his little body. His mother gasped, bright green eyes shining in the low light even though they were swollen and puffy with tears. She managed to smile at him, though, and he responded with an infectious grin of his own. Eddie loved his Mommy's smile. . ._

 _"Copil, what are you doing up?" she whispered. "It's much too early for playing."_

 _Eddie shrugged, lifting his arms in the universal gesture for 'up', and cuddled into her chest when she complied. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, pudgy fingers winding around long strands of fiery red hair. "Heard noises,_ _mama. Had'ta fight monsters."_

 _His mother laughed at him and Eddie basked in her affection as she kissed his forehead repeatedly. "Well, you certainly did that, m_ _icul meu print. But it is very early, and Mama has a lot to do. Why don't you go back to bed?"_

 _Curious at her tone, Eddie lifted his head to look at her. There were more tears on her cheeks and water in her eyes. He frowned at the offending liquid, clumsy baby hands reaching up to dash them away. "Nope. Mama cry. I ma'e her better." His mother smiled again_

 _(it's a familiar smile, almost a smirk, and he's seen it before and fuck this is NOT happening right now)_

 _and she tickled his ribs gently, sending him into an uncontrollable fit of giggles. Forgetting the tears, forgetting how early it was and how heavy his eyes really were, Eddie just basked in the glory of his mama's presence. She loved him more than anything. He didn't know how he knew this, but the tiny boy knew his mama loved him more than Daddy or Grams ever knew. It wasn't that Daddy and Grams didn't love him._

 _His Mommy just loved him more. And that was okay. Because he loved his Mommy more than anything too._

 _He loved his Mommy more than he loved chocolate cake, and that was the best thing ever._

 _Eddie yawned, though, despite his best efforts to keep from doing so. Raising an eyebrow, his mother shifted his body so she could stand up. "I think someone needs to go back to sleep."_

 _The toddler frowned. "No s'eep! Stay wif' you, mama!"_

 _Another yawn, this one threatening to crack his jaw, belied his insistence on staying up. His Mommy laughed again, rubbing her hand over his back in the way she always did when he didn't want to go to sleep. And Eddie felt his eyes begin to droop, soothed by the familiar motion on his tiny back and the smell of jasmine-cinnamon perfume coming from her hair. The tot vaguely noticed her striding back towards his bedroom, too enthralled by the wonderful smell mixed with soothing back rubs._

 _But he soon found himself being tucked under a thick Batman-themed comforter. Eddie, despite the tiredness clawing at his eyelids, scowled ferociously at the loss of contact with his mother. She just smiled at him, a cool hand stroking over his forehead._

 _There was a look in her pretty green eyes that scared him, like she was saying good-bye._

 _(that's because she was and he just didn't know it and oh, God, don't let her walk out the door!)_

 _His mother smiled one last time, and Eddie just couldn't hardly keep his eyes open anymore. Dancing dreams were beckoning him to join in the fun, and he just couldn't stay awake anymore. Cool fingers were brushing through his hair. They felt wonderful. They felt like home, like happiness, and somewhere in a whirling mass of chaos a fourteen year old Edward Anton Matthews kept screaming._

 _Because there wouldn't be a home anymore, not with his mother gone._

 _"I love you very much, my little prince," his mother whispered._

 _"_ _Te iubesc, mama," Eddie responded._

 _That was the last time he ever saw her. . ._

 _The very last time._

* * *

Eddie awoke to the smell of cooking bacon, voices in the kitchen, and a migraine that threatened to send him reeling to the floor. Every single joint in his body felt stiff, like someone had twisted him in a half-Nelson and held it for about three hours. His head pounded from the influx of memories - which shouldn't have even fucking been possible - and crying himself to sleep.

Groaning, the teenager dragged himself upright as he desperately tried to ignore the bile rising in the back of his throat. After a moment, the nausea seemed to subside for the most part (even though he still felt like he'd been hit by a truck), so he set about making himself at least halfway presentable for whatever sorry asshole was eating breakfast with his grandmother.

He lazily pulled on a somewhat clean tee, his favorite Batman graphic shirt, and a set of jeans. Sliding his old worn pair of converse on, Eddie trudged down the stairs to face his Grams before heading over to Howie's for the day. Weekends were designated "friend time"; it stood to reason that one of his friends were actually waiting for him. Howie, if the easy conversation was anything to go by.

Grams always did like Howie the best, even over her own grandson.

Sure enough, when he stepped into the kitchen Howie was chatting with Grams over a cup of black coffee, his glasses askew on his nose and sleep crusting in his blue eyes. A snort left Eddie's lips before he could stop it. Though, he did immediately regret it, as the action drove a spike of agony right through his cranium. The taller red-head grimaced before stepping fully into the room. Both sets of eyes shot up to look at him, and he ruffled his hair to distract from the dried tear-tracks on his cheeks. He grinned at Howie, lopsided and mischievous as always.

Smiles, he realized a long while ago, where great to distract people from your inner pain.

Howie smiled back, thankfully. "Hey, bro. You ready for some games? I'm pretty sure Melody said she'd come over later with Liza. They want to go to the arcade and chill out for a while this afternoon."

In the back of his mind, where the little boy still crying for his lost mother lived, Eddie realized that he really _didn't_ want to play video games at the arcade. All he wanted to do was curl up in a ball and travel back to where someone still truly loved him. But he couldn't tell Howie that. They were brothers, siblings in everything but blood. It would hurt Howie more than anything for that bond to be rejected.

And Eddie didn't want to get started on the girls.

Liza was that dependent little sister that needed to be protected at all costs. Melody was like his asshole twin who wouldn't take his shit.

Yeah. . . declining and then not explaining _why_ would not end well, and he wasn't about to explain things in front of his grandmother.

Again, Eddie forced a smile on his lips and nodded. "Sure, dude. Let me get my sweatshirt and some change. We can chill at your house until the girls are ready to go."

With that, he fled to the sanctity and quiet of his room. There were a few loose fives lying on his nightstand, crumpled from being washed and dried in pants pockets. He grabbed them, knowing that there was a change machine at the arcade. One battered Kansas City Chiefs cap later, Eddie was ready to flee from the hollowed-out shell of his grandmother's home.

The day was crisp, but it wasn't too terribly cold outside. In fact, with his headache, Eddie thought that the temperature was just right. Howie walked alongside him in total silence, face impassive for a long while. The sun filtered through oak branches, casting shadows on old concrete sidewalks. It would have been peaceful were it not for the pounding in his skull and the crippling sadness that had grabbed hold of his heart.

Finally, Howie couldn't hold it in any longer.

"Okay, bro, I held it in until we left your house," the blonde sighed. "What's going on? You were weird all seventh hour, and then I come over to see you after you _ran the fuck off_ and your Grams tells me that you've already gone to sleep. Please, don't do the whole shut-out thing again. That's bullshit, and I've been putting up with it for years."

Eddie didn't speak right away. For once, he decided to choose his words carefully. How did one put into words a feeling so great you couldn't even describe it to yourself? That was always the problem; little asshole Eddie who didn't have a mommy never learned emotions. And now, when he really needed someone - anyone - there were no words to beg for that help. Because he didn't know them.

Jesus, he was so fucked.

"I had another dream last night," Eddie started slowly. "It was a lot more vivid than the one before."

They reached Howie's house, but they didn't go inside. Not yet.

It wouldn't do to have Mr. Jones listening in on their conversation and blabbing to his Grams.

"What was it about?" Howie questioned lowly. His blue eyes were serious, darkened with shadows despite it being nearly noon. "Was it another nightmare, or did you remember more?"

Eddie swallowed thickly, remembering the smell of security and a whispered " _Te iubesc"._ He remembered teary emerald eyes and a smile that had never failed to make him happy, a voice that could make even the darkest of days bright. And it hurt. It hurt more than he cared to admit. But that was something he just wasn't ready to share. Not now, maybe not ever. So he settled on saying the one thing he could.

"I can remember my mom's face now," he whispered quietly. The wind threatened to carry his voice away.

Across the street, a petite figure emerged from the dilapidated Clancy Estate. Bright red hair floated in a halo, caressed by the very wind that snatched his words with greedy fingers, around a beautiful face that seemed to glow in the late-morning light. Eddie sensed her looking at him. The fourteen year old swallowed the anger, the hurt, the confused feelings of a little boy who wanted nothing more than to run to his _mama_ and never let go.

Because he caught hold of bright emerald eyes across the road, eyes that had once smiled at him and sent him off to sleep, and he noticed the anguish in them.

"I remember my mom loved me very, very much," he whispered almost silently.

Across the street, standing on the crumbling front stoop of the Clancy Estate in her pajamas, Adrianna _Matthews_ finally allowed the tears that had been welling in her eyes to fall. . . .

* * *

 **A/N: So. . . . this chapter just killed my soul. Like, I literally sobbed writing this. Cannot express how much pain I put myself through for this shit.**

 **Now, to clear up some of the memory areas that ya'll might be wondering about. Seeing as how Eddie is half vampire, I took it upon myself to think about how this altered physiology might affect his memories. I have a head-canon that Eddie's father was extremely abusive after his mother left, and ended up drinking himself to death when Eddie was around seven. Which would have been just before Adrianna would have come back into his life.**

 **To escape the abuse, Eddie suppressed all memories of his mother - and even a lot of memories of his father - in order to cope with the lasting scars brought on by his ordeal.**

 **After the dream, which contained elements of memory and elements of actual fantasy, all the memories he had repressed up to that point came rushing back to the surface. Eddie, being the deceptively smart little shit that he is, coped fairly well with all that. Confrontations concerning these memories - which are also products of his vampire physiology - will come up in subsequent chapters.**

 **But for now, my lovelies, I will let you bask in the angst fest I have created while I go cry myself to sleep.**

 **Read, review, and I'll see you in the next chapter!**


	5. So Much For Things Getting Better

**Chapter Five: So Much For Things Getting Better. . .**

Eddie couldn't help but smile that day.

Despite how utterly useless and fucked up his life was at this point – which was saying a lot, because he'd some pretty strange things over the years – his friends never failed to make him feel better. They were more than friends, really. They were siblings, a family in everything but genetics. He was who he was today because of them. He could take comfort from the fact that, no matter what happened, his friends would always have his back. It was a warm feeling, like stepping into a hot bath after a really long day.

Howie spent the better part of three hours showing Eddie how much he really sucked at _Call of Duty_. Really, it was almost pathetic. He _slaughtered_ the sorry sons of bitches that ran across the screen. He un-alived them, destroyed them, made them disappear, slept them with the fishes. He k-worded them in the extreme. And what did Howie do? He ran around in circles screaming randomly while Eddie did all the heavy lifting.

Pathetic, Howie, really pathetic.

By about the three hundredth kill-shot of the day, Liza and Melody had arrived to complain about how damn cold it was outside. Winter in Bailey City was never kind, so of course the temperature had decided to drop nearly twenty degrees in the time both boys had been inside goofing around with their violent games. Eddie nearly snickered to himself as he caught sight of the utterly _monumental_ pout on Liza's pretty face.

However, he thought better of it when Howie laughed and the petite blonde girl smacked the shit out of him with a pillow.

Eddie's heart felt a little bit lighter as the day progressed, and he managed to act like his normal self for most of the day, much to poor Melody's chagrin. He'd almost forgotten about his strange memories, almost forgotten about the smell of jasmine-cinnamon perfume and bright emerald eyes.

Almost, but not quite. Not until he got some answers.

As the foursome stepped into the dying autumn light, a breeze ruffled Eddie's curly hair and sent a shiver down Liza's spine. The tiny blonde girl snuggled into her taller friends' side as they made their way down the sidewalk, so Eddie did what any good brother would do: he pulled off his sweatshirt and wrapped it around her thin shoulders. Liza responded with a dazzling grin and a quiet thanks.

"Dude, it's freezing out!" Howie chastised. "Why the hell do you not have a coat? Or anything more than a tee-shirt?"

Eddie shrugged nonchalantly to distract from the way his muscled arms were already growing red with the cold. That and shrugging helped keep the blood circulating through his arms. An almost defiant grin curled his lips as the taller boy turned his Chief's cap backwards on his curly red head.

"It's been a hard year and Grams hasn't been able to afford a new coat." He waved a hand dismissively at the stunned look Howie shot him. "I outgrew the coat she bought last year, anyway. I'll hold up until Christmas."

Liza frowned at him even while she cuddled deeper into his Batman sweatshirt. "I don't want to take your sweatshirt if you don't have a coat, Eddie. I have plenty of layers on, and I'm pretty sure I won't freeze before we hit the arcade."

The familiar feeling of warmth that came with hanging near his dorky friends washed over Eddie, and he somewhat recognized it as the same one that he used to associate with _family_. These three massive nerds were his _family_ and they cared. It made Eddie grin massively, pearly white teeth glowing in the dying light, and he ruffled Liza's silky blonde hair amidst violent protest.

"Don't worry about me, short-stack," he drawled. "I'm pretty sure I won't freeze before we hit the arcade either."

True to his word, Eddie and the others arrived at _1984_ arcade before Jack Frost managed to remove all of the jock's limbs. Although, he was exceedingly grateful for central heating as they stepped into the low-light of the eighties-themed teenage paradise. He had long lost feeling in his fingers.

Which was _not_ – he repeated NOT – cool for gaming.

After paying their entry fee, each teenager chose whatever eighties classic game their little hearts desired to play. Melody immediately went for Frogger, which she declared was "the best fucking game to ever come out of the period of hair and glam-rock." Howie darted to the section where they kept all their various pinball machines with a dorky grin and endless amounts of enthusiasm. Pretty soon, one could hear copious amounts of swearing emanating from the small section near the back of the arcade.

No one screwed with Howard Jones whilst he played pinball. It was practically a law of nature.

Personally, Eddie's favorite games involved lots of blood, gore, and gratuitous violence in order to help him cope with his anxiety-riddled brain. However, at an arcade like _1984_ it was difficult to find such a game. So a lot of time he'd settle for Donkey Kong and get his kicks out of jumping barrels while a fucking gorilla threw a temper tantrum. Just the thought of having a fucking _gorilla_ steal his girlfriend - if he had a girlfriend - was enough to send the burly teenager into a fit of uncontrollable giggles.

Liza stuck close to Eddie, which was normal when they hung out at the arcade. She wasn't exactly "gaming inclined", so she preferred to watch Eddie or one of the others play while she provided interesting commentary.

"What the hell is that gorilla doing, Ed? Is this game like some sort of early furry fetish we never knew about?"

"Why the hell is he throwing barrels at you. Oh, shit, jump! You hit the barrel, you dick-waffle!"

And sometimes, when he was having a bad evening and he really wanted to rage-quit, when Eddie shouted obscenities like a mad man at Mario and that stupid _fucking_ gorilla, she would come up with the best lines to cool him off.

"Hakuna your ta-tas, Jeeves" was his personal favorite.

Tonight, though, Liza was unnaturally quiet, her pretty face drawn into an almost worried expression. Every now and then, Eddie would look over at her face just to make sure she was still there. Which was absolutely not okay, because he really needed some of those weird one-off liners that she'd pull to help keep him in a gaming groove. But there she stood, pretty little-sister Liza, with worry in her bright blue eyes and shame creasing her brow.

The look on her face made Eddie's skin itch. Whether that was from a guilty conscience or anxiety, he didn't know, but it was distracting as hell.

Finally, after about another fifteen rounds of going up against Kong, Eddie sighed and allowed poor Mario to die. Sorry, little dude, but there were other princesses that needed saving tonight. Princesses that actually meant something in the world. Liza shot him a disbelieving look when he allowed the Italian plumber character to get smacked by a barrel. The taller boy ignored her, leaning against the console and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Alright, kiddo, what's up?" Eddie drawled. "You've looked like a kicked puppy ever since we got here, so don't give me that bullshit 'I-don't-know-what-you're-talking-about' routine. I'll see right through it."

Liza bit her lips, freckled cheeks flushing red when she realized she'd been caught. The blonde girl pouted a bit. "The one time I need you to be an insensitive asshole would also be the time when you decide to actually pay attention. Jesus, Eddie, you had one job!"

Eddie chuckled, but he kept his face expectant, knowing that his pseudo-little sister would soon crack under the pressure of expectation. And Liza did not disappoint. The petite girl sighed heavily and slumped forward. Big blue eyes that he'd known since kindergarten shone up at him pitifully, and Eddie had to force himself not to panic when he saw tears welling up in them. Insults he could handle. Physical beatings? No problem! But tears were a definite no-go.

"Did I do something wrong yesterday?" Liza questioned. "I mean, I didn't really mean to upset you, but you looked so confused so I thought that if I just told you what the language was you'd be okay. And then you turned whiter than a sheet and you wouldn't talk to us. And I tried to talk to you after class, but you just ran away like you couldn't hear me. Did I make a mistake? Was it my fault? Because if it was, I'm so _so_ sorry Eddie. I didn't mean anything by it, I swear! I didn't - "

Her ramble was abruptly cut off by Eddie wrapping tiny frame in a bear hug. "You baby cinnamon roll idiot," he whispered. "Don't you ever blame yourself when I'm being an asshole. It wasn't your fault, and I'm sorry that I ran off like that. But there were some things I had to think about, and I'm sorry I made you feel like it was your fault. Sound good?"

The taller boy nearly fell over when Liza's body began to shake with giggles. Her blue eyes twinkled up at him, mischievous as per the norm, and Eddie was suddenly sharply reminded of himself. Damn, he needed to re-think his influence on the small cherub child. . .

"You know, for someone who identifies himself as Asshole Number One on all our group messages, you're really kinda sweet," Liza teased.

Eddie's face flushed tomato red, nearly matching his hair, and he spluttered to come up with a response. The blonde girl giggled some more at his flustered expression before hugging him even tighter. "It's okay, Ed," she soothed. "I won't tell anyone that you secretly have a heart under all that caustic sarcasm."

Shockingly (not really), Eddie pouted as he hugged his tiny sister. "Whatever, blondie. Now will you please release me so I can kick Donkey Kong's ass? That fur-covered fuck owes me _so_ much after all the times I've tried to play this game."

Again, Liza laughed, the sound bright and happy and echoing off the walls of the darkened arcade. And just like that, everything seemed to be right with the world once more. Everything felt _great_. Because Eddie, despite his fucked up memories and scarred mind, had friends that never failed to make life worth living. He had a brother who would always be there with _Call of Duty_ and a smile. He had a sister who wouldn't put up with his shit, one who would play-fight with him and play soccer despite it being almost thirty degrees outside.

And then he had Liza, wonderful little Liza with her cinnamon-roll personality and quick - surprisingly filthy - wit.

Yes, the world was bright again.

 _But why did he still feel like he was being watched?_

* * *

It was almost nine-thirty before the four friends exited the darkened arcade, laughing uproariously to something stupid Eddie had commented on. The air was shockingly still after all the wind that had been blowing recently, silence pressing in from all sides like a blanket. The Moon hung, waxing and bright, overhead. Freezing winter air ran its fingers over exposed skin, leaving behind numb nerves and reddened faces.

Eddie shivered without complaint, though. Liza still obviously needed his sweatshirt, which dwarfed her small frame but prevented the chill from knocking the breathe out of her. And her house was right before he got home, so he could suffer until she was safe and back under a centrally-heated roof. Howie cracked another bad joke which left Melody gasping for air and Liza giggling uncontrollably.

But the red-head couldn't stop fidgeting, dark eyes darting between buildings and into heavy shadows. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching them, something _dangerous_. Over the years, he'd learned to trust that little voice screaming "danger!" in the back of his head - it'd saved him from many detentions after all - so every nerve in his body was telling him to run. However, he didn't want to alarm the girls, much less leave them in a dangerous situation with only Howie for protection.

Lord knew the kid meant well, but he was thin as a rail.

The little group reached Melody's house first, calling a fond fair-well as the black girl sprinted up to her front door and ducked inside. And still, the silence pressed inward, leaving Eddie even more paranoid than before. There were eyes tracing him, unfriendly ones, and something deep in his core was telling him something was very, _very_ wrong. He sped up his pace just a hair, arm wrapped around Liza's shoulder under the pretense that she'd been shivering. Which was true. But she also needed to stick close if something were to go down.

Movement from the edge of his vision caught Eddie's attention, and he turned his head to see what it was.

He turned far too late. . .

A blur of shadow slammed into the teenager, ripping Liza from his grasp with an "oof!" of air. Eddie hit the ground hard, skull bouncing off the pavement hard enough to make everything spin. Somewhere, distantly, vaguely, he could hear Howie shouting at someone. Liza was crying. But there was a body on top of him, one that consisted of frozen black leather covering marble-like muscles. The smell of old blood and cigarettes was nearly gagging. Eddie opened his eyes, vision swimming, only to freeze in terror when he caught sight of the manic, red eyes staring down at him.

The person pinning him to the ground was a girl. If he were only looking at her face, he would guess she was in her late teens, maybe early twenties. And she was beautiful in a weird Gothic sort of way, silver lip piercings gleaming in the low light and thick makeup contrasting heavily with her bone-white face. But those _eyes_ were inhuman. They shone, bright bloody red, and the demented look she was shooting him was enough to make the teenage boy freeze up with terror.

The girl grinned, her expression morphing her face into a savage, blood-thirsty battle mask. Long black dreadlocks brushed his cheeks as she leaned in close, inhaling his scent like a wolf would scent out a terrified rabbit. Her grin widened marginally.

"This is the one!" she exclaimed gleefully. "I found the little half-breed Ioana was wanting! Now can I eat, Serge? Can I, please?"

Eddie took note of her distinctive British accent, one that would have been almost upper-crust had it not been for the insanity behind it. He turned his head head, eyes wide to look at his friends. What he found made his blood run cold.

Two more faces with hungry red eyes stared back at him. Howie struggled against the grip of a black-clad man with obscenely long white-blonde hair. One hand with long, filthy nails clutched him by the neck while the other hung, twitching, by his side. Horrified, Eddie realized that his best friend was being dangled nearly a foot in the air, feet kicking as he desperately clawed at the fingers at his windpipe. But the man showed no visible effort, his body language almost lazy as those red eyes stared at the woman pinning the red-head teen down.

But the man that frightened Eddie the most was the one that had hold of Liza. He was tall, almost ridiculously so, with wavy hair so dark it seemed to absorb light. His face was classically handsome, free of makeup unlike his female counterpart, and his well-muscled body was clad in a finely tailored suit. The crimson of his eyes actually seemed to fit him, and he carried himself with the indolent grace of a hunting cat. One which appeared to be benevolent but would kill you without a second thought. This one was obviously the leader.

And he had Liza by the hair, an elegantly forged dagger pressed tightly to her throat as she sobbed.

"Yes, you did Bellatrix," the tall man drawled. His voice was as aristocratic as his appearance, tinted with a French lilt. "You've done so well, my dear. I think you deserve a treat."

The lithe, deceptively strong body above him positively vibrated with pleasure, and Eddie found himself going cold in panic. These people weren't normal. They were monsters, _vampires._

And they had been looking for _him_. . . .

But if Eddie Matthews was good at anything, it was pulling a bluff in the face of danger. Granted, that danger wasn't usually life-threatening. But he had no choice, not here. It was either bluff and distract the monstrous things holding his friends or watch his world crumble in a wash of crimson.

"Dude, will you tell your girlfriend to get off me?" Eddie called in faux-annoyance. "She smells like pot, broken dreams, and crazy person. It's kinda gross."

The woman - Bellatrix - atop his back hissed in anger, and the red-headed teen found himself flipped onto his stomach before he could register movement. Long dagger-like fingernails dug bloody trenches into the top of his scalp as she slammed his face into the pavement once, twice, three time. Eddie's vision blurred, black spots dancing everywhere as hot liquid iron gushed over his chin, and he had to physically force himself not to pass out.

"You should learn to respect your superiors, _little prince_ ," she growled in his ear. "That mouth could get you into trouble."

Eddie opened his mouth to retort; however, the aristocratic man's chuckle cut him off. It sent chills that had nothing to do with the cold racing down the teenager's spine. Liza was trembling violently, tears gushing over her high cheekbones. Howie was obviously beginning to turn blue, gasping for oxygen while his feet kicked feebly below him. It appeared as though the aristocratic man wasn't going to say anything, so Eddie took it upon himself.

"Hey dickface, could you put the nerd down? I prefer my friends alive over dead," Eddie growled.

The impassive look on the blonde man's face remained. But he looked over to his boss, waiting for a nod of approval. Only when he received it did he place Howie back on the ground, re-situation his grasp to hold the much smaller teenager by the shoulders with immovable marble fingers. A smirk curled the leader's thin lips as his red eyes regarded the red-head bleeding under his subordinate.

"You have tenacity, little half-breed," he drawled. "And a sharp tongue. You are most definitely your mother's child. However, we are not here to make small talk. The Lady Ioana wishes to remove your existence personally, so we have no time for small talk."

Eddie stared at him with a mixture of in-credulousness and fear. "Dude, what in the literal fuck are you talking about? I don't even know my mom. And if you're going to take me, let my friends go. They haven't got anything to do with this."

On the inside, Eddie was screaming in terror. Howie and Liza couldn't die here, not while he still breathed. It was _not_ going to happen.

The leader cocked his head like a child curiously observing a bug whose legs it had pulled off. His eyes shone in the low moonlight, demons shrieking within them as he stared Eddie down, and the much younger man felt terror the likes of which he hadn't felt in years. This man was a monster. And he would kill them all without batting an eyelash, probably rejoice in their fear while the life drained from them.

Effortlessly maintaining his grip on Liza, the monstrous thing offered Eddie a steady, elegant bow. His dark hair didn't move an inch from its swept-back position. "Forgive my lack of manners, little one. Our journey to find you has been a long one. You may call me Serge D'angoulême, head of the House of Demons and third of my name. To be frank, were Fate not such a cruel mistress, you would have been the fourth of that name, little half-breed. Alas, it was not meant to be."

Serge gestured to the long-haired man holding Howie in a death-grip. "This gentleman goes by the name of Samael Marlow, my most loyal knight and guard. The House of Marlow have been vassals to the House of Demons for centuries, and Samael is the best of them all. He has killed hundreds upon thousands of humans and upir alike in order to protect my interests."

An almost feral grin split Serge's aristocratic face at that point, and his eyes locked on to the leather-clad body still firmly seated atop Eddie's back. "And the lovely lady who so graciously took it upon herself to teach you manners is Bellatrix Lemercier. Her mother was a necromancer, and her father is one of the most bloodthirsty barons to ever grace the planet. She's a talented Tracker; it's how we were able to find you so readily."

Bellatrix giggled, madness charring the high-pitched sound at the edges. Eddie shuddered as both his friends began crying in earnest.

This was _so_ fucking bad.

However, it wasn't in Eddie's nature to accept any form of defeat. So he lifted his eyes to stare at Serge with an unimpressed look. "So you had a Death-Eater in training and a freakin' psychopath do your dirty work to find some teenage kid in _Bailey City_. Dude, what in the hell has this Ioana chick been feeding you? I don't know what any of the shit you just spouted even means."

The look in Serge's eyes turned cold, Arctic cold. He pressed his ornate dagger deeper into Liza's throat, beads of blood welling around the polished metal. Bellatrix twitched. Samael took a deep breath through his nose, and even from this distance he could see the hunger on the blonde man's expression. Okay, asshole, bad choice of words. Back the fuck up and fix what you started.

"You, my little prince, are the only half-breed to ever live past the age of four," Serge drawled. "And that is due to your mother's intervention. In a way, you were lucky she didn't stick around for very much of your childhood. With that Aura of hers, it would have been all too easy for Bellatrix to track you down. And Ioana would have had your head mounted on a pike years ago. But I grow tired of this conversation."

Serge casually, as though he hadn't a care in the world, slashes his knife across the expanse of Liza's pale throat. Crimson spurted outward, some it catching Eddie in the face. The man stepped backward to avoid getting any of the liquid on his immaculate clothing or Italian loafers. "Bellatrix, darling, the snack I promised you."

The body that had so firmly planted itself on Eddie to keep him from squirming darted over, and the teen caught the barest glimpse of long ivory fangs before they sank into Liza's already mutilated flesh. Her blue eyes were full of terror, disbelief, horror, anguish. A pale, delicate hand reached out for him before her legs gave out, and Bellatrix eagerly began lapping at the blood that continued gushing from his baby sister's torn throat.

Within seconds, Eddie's world tilted on its axis and shattered.

Howie shrieked with agony and rage, thrashing against Samael like a boy possessed. The knight, however, had a demented gleam of thirst in his eyes. In seconds, Howie's terrified, furious screams became gurgling gasps as another set of fangs burrowed deep into his carotid artery. The fury that had been boiling in Eddie's blood up to this point reached a fever-pitch, exploding into a raging inferno of despairing fury. Everything became technicolor, 3D and bright and so much sharper. His damaged brain should've been sluggish.

Instead, Eddie shot forward with an inhuman amount of speed, tackling the monster draining his best friend with enough force to send them sprawling in the middle of the street. Samael let out a surprise hiss, losing his grip on Howie's throat in the onslaught. Eddie, however, managed to settle his body atop the older man's and began punching every inch of him he could reach with an unreal amount of force. Howie had landed a few feet away, and kept trying to keep his blood from spilling with a two-hand grip.

Liza was already gone, baby-blue eyes filmed over in death while Bellatrix greedily feasted on whatever fluid remained in her cooling body.

However, once Samael got over his initial shock at the attack, he reversed their situations. Eddie found himself once again at the mercy of a monster, and the knight from the House of Marlow snapped the boy's right arm with all the effort one might break a toothpick. The red-head howled in agony, but he kept trying to fight. Until he caught sight of Howie, still desperately clinging to life in a pool of his own blood.

The liquid was disturbingly beautiful, obsidian against the pavement. Tears distorted the red-headed boy's vision as he locked gazes with his best friend - his _brother_. Lips that grew paler by the second managed to form around a two simple words.

 _Help me. . . ._

In response, Eddie did the one thing his body had been screaming at him to do for minutes.

He opened his mouth and **screamed**.

The sound was harsh, high-pitched and nearly painful. It tore through the air like a weapon, a sonic blast of fear and pain and anguish. Somewhere in the back of Eddie's mind it registered that humans shouldn't have even been able to make such a sound. But it didn't matter, not really, not now. Because all he could do was _scream_ and _scream_ and _scream_ until there was no air left in his lungs.

Immediately, Eddie knew he had done the right thing.

Bellatrix disengaged from her prey with a wide-eyed expression of terror, blood dripping from cracked lips down her front. She hissed, and filthy black dreadlocks whipped about as she scrambled to stand behind her master. Samael released his arm; however, the knight bashed his face into the concrete once more before getting off him. Black spots danced in front of Eddie's eyes. It slowly registered that there was nothing holding him down, no weight, and he rolled onto his good side to get a look at Serge Le Bastard's face.

The son of a bitch had a look of anticipation on his face, almost like he was expecting a Christmas present or something.

Then a furious, bone-chilling hiss echoed above him and Eddie knew exactly _who_ the fuck he'd been anticipating.

"Adrianna, my dear, you look lovely as ever," Serge purred. "However, I really am on a tight schedule, so if you'll just let me have the half-breed, we'll be on our way."

A voice that Eddie knew, one which both infuriated and soothed him, snarled back. "This _half-breed_ is my son. I should skin you alive for this. If I had my way, I'd skin Ioana alive for this. But I will give you exactly one chance to leave. Take it, and you will live to see another day. Refuse it, and they'll be finding pieces of you for hundreds of years."

For a moment, it seemed as though Serge would laugh at her offer. Then, for the first time that night, a tinge of fear passed through those crimson eyes. The aristocrat nodded, gesturing for his little group to follow him. "Far be it from me to stand between a mother and her child," he crooned. "What, exactly, am I to tell your dear sister?"

"Tell her Adrianna sends her regards. And that if another upir lays so much as a finger on my son, it'll be her head I mount on a pike in Castle Draculi."

Serge inclined his head gracefully. An almost sad smile curved his lips, and he whispered, "If I did not love you so much, I would have killed you by now, _cherie_. Until we meet again."

And like that, they were gone, forms melted into the shadows as quickly as they had appeared.

Eddie's head was swimming. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe through the pain in his head and arm. And he suddenly realized that something was very wrong with his ankle because, really, left ankles weren't meant to face upwards when you were laying on your side. Tears poured down his face in rivers.

Everything was falling apart.

Then a pair of smooth legs knelt in front of him, and Eddie found himself looking into the same emerald eyes that had been haunting his dreams. They were worried, frantic as delicate marble hands smoothed through his hair and across his cheeks. "Eddie? Eddie, _copil_ , say something."

"I knew it was you," he gasped through his broken nose. "I remembered."

Mrs. Jeepers - his _mother_ \- was crying now, too. She leaned in and kissed his forehead. "I know, baby. I'm _so_ sorry about this. _Îmi pare atât de rău_ _, copil_."

Panic suddenly shot through his mind, and Eddie grasped desperately at her forearms, pupils blown wide. There were barely any gurgling sounds anymore, much less breathing, and he could smell the coppery tang of blood on the air. This was it.

Howie was dying.

He couldn't let that happen.

Eddie was losing consciousness rapidly, vision dancing even as his mother tried to keep him from falling asleep. But he managed to eek out one final sentence before the blackness overtook him. "Save Howie, mama."

With that, the teenager lost his battle to stay awake.

 _So much for things getting better. . ._


	6. Queens with Shattered Crowns

Chapter Six: Queens With Shattered Crowns

 _Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

The steady sound of a heart monitor roused Eddie from unconsciousness. His body felt heavy, like his limbs had been filled with lead, and he couldn't feel his face. The room swam in a washed-out watercolor painting of white and gray. Every breath felt strained, like oxygen no longer wished to stay in his lungs.

Eddie attempted to move, which was a major mistake, because as soon as he shifted, agony lanced up his right arm. The teenager gasped loudly and gritted his teeth against the pain. He looked down at the offending limb, finally noting the plaster cast through the tears gathering in his eyes. _What the hell happened?_

Confused, Eddie allowed his vision to clear a little more before looking around the room. He was in a tiny, uncomfortable medical bed at Bailey City Hospital. The room was small, sparse and plain and decorated in all gray. Gray walls, gray floors, and drab gray curtains on the tiny window that filtered in dying sunlight. While taking stock of his surroundings, Eddie also realized his left leg was in traction, pale toes peeking out from a green-wrapped plaster cast. He groaned: broken bones were a pain in the ass, and casts itched like hell.

But something about the green of the cast made him pause, brow furrowed in a deep frown. He couldn't remember exactly what got him here. What was he doing?

 _Donkey Kong was being an asshole again. . ._

 _Liza was screaming. . ._

 _Red red eyes that were cold and arrogant and dangerous. . . ._

 _Baby blue eyes, filled with terror, filmed over in death. . . ._

 _Tear-filled verdant gemstones and a whispered, "I'm so sorry, baby."_

" _Save Howie, Momma."_

Tears sprang to Eddie's eyes. His breath came in harsh gasps as panic and desperation set in. Everything was _wrong_. This wasn't right, wasn't ever going to be right again. Where was Howie? Liza? Melody had gotten home safe, that much he was sure of, but he didn't know what had happened to his best friend. All he could see was Liza's body, twisted and turning cold on the asphalt with eyes wide open in death.

The teenager gulped, panicking as his breath came in harsh pants. His heart-monitor was beeping frantically in time with the muscle pulsing within his chest. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Couldn't think.

What the fuck happened to his mother?

Suddenly, there were cool hands on his face, smooth fingers running over his cheeks and through his hair. Eddie jolted at the unexpected contact. But there were bright green eyes looking back at him, filled with worry and understanding, and he found his muscles relaxing in response. For some reason, his eyes couldn't focus quite right.

 _Pain exploded in his face as Samael bashed his face into the concrete below. . ._

Oh, well, that would explain a lot.

"Shush, baby, it's alright," Mrs. Jeepers cooed. "You're in the hospital. You're safe now."

She continued to coo to him in a mixture of Romanian and English, words that were simultaneously foreign and familiar in the same breath. He barely noticed when she sat down on the bed next to him, taking care not to jostle his body with her movements. This should've been weird. He'd loathed this woman for years, thought of her as the bane of his existence for most of his third-grade year. Okay, maybe not _loathed_ , but he had harbored a great distaste. However, when she gently scraped her fingernails over his scalp and pressed a kiss to his temple, the motion felt oddly right. Like this was the way things were supposed to be. Briefly, he wondered if this was what it would've been like growing up with her as a stable figure in his life.

Slowly, very slowly, Eddie's panicked breathing calmed to a manageable level. His fingers were trembling; in fact, every part of him was trembling. The lingering feeling of terror was subsiding, though. Those _things_ weren't going to attack him, not with his mother sitting in the room. The teenager swallowed thickly, lifting a shivering hand to grasp the fingers still running through his hair. Mrs. Jeepers froze at the contact, green eyes wide as they stared at him. Eddie just squeezed her tiny hand, taking note of how cool the slender appendage was, how it seemed to be formed from marble despite its deceptive size.

"They attacked us because I'm your son," he croaked.

It wasn't a question. Deep down, Eddie knew that somehow everything was related to the fact that he _remembered_. There were so many things wrong with this situation; however, his normal path of complaining loudly until something changed wouldn't work. Not this time. Not with this.

There were monsters in the world that no amount of bitching would destroy.

Mrs. Jeepers – his mother – looked utterly stricken, like he'd slapped her in the face and kicked her while she was down.

For all the years he'd supposedly "known" her, Eddie was beginning to realize that he knew nothing about her actual personality. The cool, composed teacher he'd always known would never have expressed such anguish. She would have remained collected, apathetic to the emotions around her. This woman, however, managed to express an unimaginable amount of grief with nothing but those haunting curse-green eyes.

She bit her lower lip hard enough he thought it would bleed, petite frame shaking almost imperceptibly. Then she nodded, dropping her gaze to their joined hands.

"I'm a selfish woman, Eddie," she murmured quietly. "I couldn't bear the thought of never seeing you again, consequences be damned, and look at what happened. You almost died."

Tears were dripping over high cheekbones and down onto the pristine sheets of his hospital bed. Eddie took a good look at her for the first time since waking up.

Mrs. Jeepers the teacher was gone. Here was his mother, the woman who had loved him without question and protected him from his father's wrath for the first years of his life. Her long red hair was pulled into a sloppy Elsa-braid, wisps falling into her face, which looked pale and drawn. Dark circles stood stark beneath her eyes. She was dressed in a pair of baggy shorts, an old tank-top clinging to her thin frame.

She looked like she hadn't slept in years, and Eddie found that her appearance saddened him greatly.

"I suppose you have questions for me?" It was a rhetorical question and they both knew it.

The teenager nodded. Slowly, he released his hold on her hand and allowed the tiny woman to get up off the bed. His mother pulled an obviously well-used chair up from the foot of his bed, sitting cross-legged on the uncomfortable structure. She was close enough for easy conversation but far enough away to give him space should he need it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Eddie wondered where his Grams was, only to realize that her presence really didn't matter at this point.

Not many things really mattered at this point.

"How long have I been out?" he rasped. It was a good ice-breaker question.

A wisp of silky red hair fell out of her braid as the petite woman rested her chin in one palm. "You've been unconscious for about four days. The doctors say that you're healing at an unprecedented rate, which is to be expected considering your. . . unique physiology."

"Where's Grams?"

Bright green eyes, which had been so very expressive up to this point, went dark. A wall slammed up behind them. And, suddenly, Eddie had really wished he hadn't asked about the woman who'd practically raised him.

 _(Except she hadn't, not really, just paid the bills and bought him clothes)_

"Your grandmother has been by to visit you." Her tone was clipped and professional, very much back in the persona of his much-hated algebra teacher. "She expressed disappointment in the fact that you 'got yourself into another situation'. That, and your grandmother has never really approved of me. The fact that I had to leave when you were so young did nothing but further her view."

Eddie laughed humorlessly, lips turned up in a sardonic, self-deprecating grin. "I wasn't really all that concerned with whether or not Grams had been by. I just wanted to make sure that I weren't stuck with the hospital bill all by myself. She _is_ still my legal guardian; paying for this would be expensive."

The walls came crumbling down. She shot him an incredulous expression. "Edna would make you pay for this?"

"Most of the time she makes me pay for everything I want or need, except food. I get clothes for Christmas and my birthday." The teenager shrugged, wincing quietly as the motion jostled his broken arm. "It's really not big of a deal."

Eddie watched her expression morph from one of shock to righteous anger. She began swearing violently in Romanian, calling his grandmother every slur under the Sun, and he couldn't suppress the laughter that rose in his chest.

Prim, proper Mrs. Jeepers – his _mother_ – was calling his grandmother names that would probably get him expelled from school.

"You know, I never did learn your real name," Eddie questioned softly. "You told us all something the second day of school, but I'm pretty sure that isn't your real name. It's still a little weird knowing that you're my mom."

His question tore her out of her rant, and the viridian eyes which had been glowing with anger regarded him with surprise. The petite woman drew her body up, posture suddenly perfect. For the first time since that fateful day in August she smiled at him, truly smiled.

"I suppose this is all a tad strange, isn't it?" she whispered. "My name really is Adrianna, little one. The only thing I tweaked was my surname. It wouldn't do to have a bunch of freshmen realizing that I truly was a descendant of Vlad Tepes."

Silence pulsed between them for a few heartbeats. Eddie looked at her hard, eyes wide, searching for any sign of deception. There were none. At least, none that he could see, and she was looking at him with obvious apprehension. The teenager swallowed thickly, foggy brain still trying to process all the information he'd been given.

"Holy shit, you really are a vampire," he whispered. "Those guys that attacked me, that attacked _my friends_ , they were actual freaking vampires!"

Slowly, Adrianna nodded at him. "I should have told you sooner, _fiul_. But there just wasn't an opportunity."

A moment of panicked clarity swept through Eddie, and he lurched forward, arm darting out to grab at her hands. "Howie! What happened to Howie, mama? Is he alive? I don't remember. . ."

Immediately, she was back in control, shushing him quietly and squeezing his hand. "It's alright. Calm down. Howie is just fine. I did as you asked and saved him."

A heartbeat or two passed before Eddie finally realized the implications of her words. He tightened his grip on her marble-white hand, praying to whatever god would listen that it would budge. It didn't, unyielding as steel. He felt like he was going to be sick.

"Jesus Christ, you had to turn him, didn't you?" His voice sounded hollow in his own ears. "Holy shit-balls, my mother turned my best friend into a monster."

Cool fingers suddenly tightened painfully around his hand. Eddie yelped, startled, and looked up into his mother's face. She was wearing that stern I-will-not-have-any-of-this-crap expression he was so very familiar with.

"Watch your mouth, _fiul_. I am the only one in this room allowed to swear." Adrianna relaxed her grip on his hand, her green eyes apologetic even while her face remained passive. "To answer your question, yes, I did turn Howie. It was the only way to save him. Your friend Liza was beyond help, though. I am so very sorry, darling. None of this was meant to happen."

Tears welled up in Eddie's dark eyes as he thought about Liza, his pretty little sister with her vivacious personality, lying cold on the asphalt. His mouth suddenly felt very dry, and he swallowed thickly.

"It's not your fault," he whispered. "That crazy chick was the one that killed her, not you. At least Howie's still alive - relatively speaking, anyway."

Adrianna offered him a tight smile. "That's true. You got very lucky that night, _copil_. Those three are some of the most dangerous upir to walk the earth behind my sister. If you hadn't screamed, I would not have made it in time to save you."

She looked ready to cry again, gaze filled with shame and self-loathing. The expression broke Eddie's heart. He squeezed her fingers gently. "Who were those guys, anyway? I mean, mister I'm-so-much-better-than-you went through the whole introduction monologue, but why were _they_ so keen on finding _me_?"

"The House of Demons is one of the most influential upir – that's the proper term for vampire – covens in the world. Honestly, I'm surprised Serge came to follow my sister's orders himself. Usually he just has Samael do all the menial labor." There was something close to betrayal warring in his mother's expression that Eddie didn't like, but he kept his mouth shut. "The girl, Bellatrix, is merely insane. She idolizes my sister, worships the ground she walks upon. And the Lemercier girl is a truly gifted Tracker. Otherwise, she would not have been able to find you so readily. Your Aura hasn't even begun to mature yet."

Eddie's head hurt, and apparently his face said as much, because his mother smiled at him knowingly. She turned their hands, pressing a kiss to his fingers gently. "It's a lot to take in, I know. Why don't we have this discussion another day, hmm?"

Grudgingly, the teenager nodded. His head was throbbing in time with his heartbeat, and every broken part of him - which was a lot - had begun to protest angrily at his being awake for so long. He shifted over to one side cautiously, expression a careful mask of stoicism, and patted the bed beside him.

"You look tired," he grumbled. "Get up here and get some sleep."

Adrianna - _your mother, asshole_ \- looked at him like he'd just given her the most precious gem in the world. Uncurling from her position on the chair, the petite woman stretched. Idly, Eddie took note of the fact that she was wearing an old pair of Batman shorts. She then sat in the space he had just made for her, curling her legs underneath her body in an almost cat-like manner.

He couldn't resist snuggling into her side.

For someone who had such cool hands, his mother was surprisingly warm. Heat seeped into his cheek from her shoulder. The scent of jasmine and cinnamon pervaded his nostrils. Suddenly, everything that had happened came crashing down all at once. Losing Liza. Almost losing Howie. Finding his mother, who had left him, who had tried to protect him. It was too much for anyone to process, much less a barely fourteen year old boy. Tears leaked from his eyes, coming down in torrents. His body shook with sobs.

Soft arms wrapped around his body and Eddie buried his face into his mother's clavicle. Long fingers stroked through his hair, one hand trailing comfortingly over his spine. This felt familiar, safe. It wasn't _supposed_ to feel that way, because up until he'd remembered this woman had been the bane of his existence. But as Adrianna began murmuring softly in his ear, he couldn't help but revel in the sensation, this feeling of being safe and loved and warm. He choked on a sob.

"Things are never going to go back to normal, are they?" he hiccuped.

Adrianna pressed another kiss to his forehead. "No, baby, they aren't."

"I want those sick freaks to pay for what they did. Liza didn't deserve that. Howie didn't deserve that."

"I know."

Another wave of fresh tears choked off any words Eddie might've spoken. He clung tighter to his mother's body, head throbbing and unconsciousness threatening to overtake him once more. She just whispered quietly to him in Romanian, voice low and soothing, fingernails scratching at his scalp in a pleasant way. They sat like that for a long while, mother and son clinging to each other, desperate to try and find a way out of their perilous situation. There was no sound save that of her quiet murmuring and his heart monitor.

 _Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

Just as he was about to drift off to sleep, Eddie squeezed his mother around the middle one final time. "Mama, I'm scared."

One more kiss, this one to his hairline. "I know, sweetheart. I'm scared, too. But we just have to be brave for a little while. And I promise, nothing will ever hurt you again, not while I'm around."

Eddie drifted off to sleep with promises echoing in his head.

Revenge still festered in his heart.

 _Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

* * *

 **A/N: HEY! I finally got another chapter down! It's not nearly as good as I would have liked, and I kept erasing it and rewriting it over the course of God knows how long. But this version, while short, was the best one I could come up with. That being said, I have purposefully kept a lot of things vague. These items (*cough Serge-Howie-upirs cough*) will be explained in following chapters. I haven't decided whether or not I want to put a romance in this fic. Half of me is pulling this fic in dark directions, mainly with an Adrianna/villain pairing. However, the other half - you know, the half that isn't a sadistic fuck - keeps screaming to leave my perfect cinnamon roll queen alone.**

 **Oh, the joys of being me!**

 **Anywhore, I hope you enjoy this lovely chapter, my darlings. There are plenty more where this came from, and I promise the writing will be less vague as we go along.**

 **Leave a comment in the crotch below because they're amazing and I love them dearly!**

 **BlackRosePoetry**


	7. Things You Carry Aren't Always Physical

**Chapter Seven: Things You Carry Aren't Always Physical**

Eddie was released from the hospital three days after he woke up.

His leg had been shattered, a compound fracture they'd said, with bone sticking through his thigh. It was a miracle that they'd managed to get it repaired at all and something deep in the fourteen year old's too-heavy chest told him that he would be perfectly fine again within a few weeks. He couldn't remember the crushing of his leg being broken by a monster, now that he thought about it, but he could see the bone gleaming wet in the moonlight. It had seemed distant. That had been someone else's leg, not his, and Liza was fucking _dying_ so it wasn't like he had time to worry about compound fractures when his best girl - his baby sister - was being drained by some crazy broad in dominatrix leather.

The real kicker was the broken arm. He was right-handed, completely useless with his left hand. So useless in fact that his mother had nearly cried when she watched his pitiful attempts at feeding himself.

 _(that's not the only reason she was about to cry because he can see the guilt and the loathing and the shame_

 _after about twenty minutes of swearing violently under his breath and smearing jello everywhere Eddie throws down the spoon and leans over to give her a hug_

 _his mother cries into his shoulder and begs him to forgive her. He already had.)_

Eddie was keenly familiar with the fact that the world was a cruel place, a demented soulless plane of existence which allowed a girl with sapphire eyes and the gentlest heart to die on a frozen evening in November. He learned through experience. He learned through watching.

Learning, however, did nothing to ease the ache in his chest and the burn in his eyes every time he thought about what would've happened if he _hadn't_ been such a fuck-up. What would've happened if he'd just been _that_ much faster. Howie wouldn't be a vampire, wouldn't have to live for the rest of eternity off of blood. And Liza, his dear sweet little cinnamon roll girl with her filthy jokes and cotton-candy personality, would still be alive. She would be here to smile at him blindingly, to toss her blonde hair and say "Hakuna your ta-tas, Jeeves."

But she wouldn't do that.

Because Liza was dead. Not alive. K-worded. Murdered. Fucking _gone_.

And Edward Matthews was still alive because his mother, his Mama, had saved him. He'd cried for the mommy that hadn't been there since he was a baby and she'd come running like any parent was wont to do.

Fucking typical.

* * *

Eddie didn't cry at Liza's funeral.

It was a monstrous affair, hundreds of people from all walks of life squeezing into the church in droves to hug the distraught parents of _'that poor Evans girl'_ and offer condolences. The air was thick with cheap perfume and cologne and body odor mixing in with the dozens of flower arrangements that littered the open cathedral. The faces were blank and blurred. Not even faces, just empty expanses with mouths that never seemed to shut up.

Eddie sat in his wheelchair in the first row of pews. Bruises still mottled his face and turned flesh green around his eyes. His casts itched like a motherfucker. People he knew and people he'd never met, kids from school who never hung out with Liza but wanted to get out of school, came up and hugged him tearfully. They offered empty apologies, tokens of sadness and _"oh, Liza, was such a sweet girl, such a tragedy, but you're still here and that's what counts."_ And Eddie felt simultaneously red-hot and ice-cold and numb to the core. Because, no, what counted wasn't that he was still here. His existence was menial and meaningless and unworthy in the extreme.

What counted would be killing the savage fucks that did this to his Liza.

The only solace was that his Grams had agreed to let his mother accompany him. And Howie was there, standing tall and pale with haunted dark-blue eyes at his right side. His hands were cold like marble, like his mother's, but no one would ever suspect him of being anything other than human. Those fingers clutched Eddie's shoulder hard enough to bruise and grind joint-bones together agonizingly.

Eddie was grateful to feel something physical for once.

People kept filing through. People kept hugging him, kept offering apologies and condolences, and Eddie felt like he would scream if one more goddamn leech decided to put their arms around him. He was numb and burning and heartbroken and furious. Honestly, he wanted to just curl up in bed and cry until there was nothing left. Until he shriveled up and blew away on the wind. Or maybe Howie mix his ashes with cocaine and snort him. That sounded like an okay way to be, living on his not-brother's drug fueled bloodstream.

Okay, emotions were seriously fucking with his brain at this point.

As was the sleep deprivation because, by his count, Eddie hadn't gotten a full night's sleep in almost three weeks. Nightmares were scary things

 _(but memories are much scarier, aren't they little boy? clawing at your head with razors and smiling with red eyes?)_

that the fourteen year old didn't have time for anymore. There were more important things to attend to, like learning everything about his mother and why he was a target and what in the literal fuck Serge Le-Asshole's problem was.

His hands were apparently trembling, because the moment the priest began the eulogy, his mother reached over and grasped his good hand tightly. Eddie looked over at her, mind fuzzy, because he still hadn't quite come to terms with the fact that she was _there_. That she was done hiding and was going to stay with him. That someone actually _loved_ him and was willing to protect him at the cost of their own life and happiness.

Adrianna Tepes (or Jeepers or Matthews or Vladimirescue, it didn't matter) was the picture of grace and etiquette. She had a poker face like nobody's business, features carefully blank and neutral and just haughty enough to deter unwanted attention. She was pale skin and red hair and green eyes that stared off into the distance, seeing nothing but seeing everything all in one fell swoop. There were bodies in her eyes, loved-ones long gone, but his mother was stronger than most. She bore them on her petite shoulders with a sense of aristocratic dignity one could never hope to gain through practice.

She squeezed his fingers and Eddie felt almost _almost_ grounded for the first time since that black night.

The priest spoke of a life far too short, a light snuffed far too soon, and how every person she touched would miss Liza deeply. His voice was deep and droning and drawled with a distinct Southern accent. There were emotions in his eyes, which were slate gray and bloodshot, but they weren't real. Not in Eddie's mind. Because this fucker, this man with his hick drawl and his fancy words and his scriptures, had never fucking met Liza. He didn't know what her favorite food was ( _biscuits and cocoa gravy_ ) and he didn't know that she could make a sailor blush with her language and he didn't know that she hadn't just been killed by a random thug. He hadn't watched her sapphire blue eyes twinkle for the past ten years of his life only to watch them cloud over while some bitch with disgusting hair sucked her dry. This man, this preacher, didn't watch her die with fear in her gaze and blood on pale skin.

Eddie slowly got angry because this ancient, fat son of a bitch didn't know jack _shit_.

And the people who knew Liza intimately - even her parents - didn't know shit.

Those who didn't know Liza at all were disrespectful fucks, wanting to offer condolences for someone they didn't even fucking care about.

He wanted them all to burn and give him a chance to dance on their ashes.

Eddie didn't realize how tense he was until his mother ( _oh, that's right, he has one again)_ leaned over and whispered, "Darling, relax. You're crushing my hand."

And the red-headed boy trying so very desperately to feel anything other than an all-consuming rage looked down at their joined fingers. His knuckles were white, clutching at a petite hand that looked absolutely delicate with enough force to leave red marks. His mother had always had unyielding hands carved from marble. But here they were, sitting in a church before a closed casket while a preacher droned on and on, and he'd clung on hard enough to grind bones together. There were red marks already fading to purple around his fingertips. Slowly, he relaxed his grip until he was barely holding on. Fear pulsed through the teenager's system as he came to the realization that he could _hurt_ people, destroy those he cared about without even realizing it.

He could destroy his mother without meaning to and everything would come crumbling down.

But then she offered him a smile, not one of those wicked smirks she reserved for the classroom, of understanding. One thumb brushed gently over his knuckles. Bright green eyes, verdant gemstones that conveyed so much it was entirely in-human, looked at him. Looked through him. And he knew that she wasn't scared of him, would never be scared of him. She had tough skin, had lived through suffering that made this appear meaningless.

A bruised hand didn't bother her.

"It's okay, _copil_ ," she murmured. "I know."

Eddie wanted to fucking scream until his throat split open and everything spilled all over the cheap carpet.

Eventually, a lifetime and two seconds later, the preacher finished his eulogy and said, "At this time, Mr. and Mrs. Evans would like me to ask anyone who wishes to come up and share some memories about their daughter."

The hairs on the back of Eddie's neck stood on end. He felt like he'd been doused in cold water. There were fingers clawing at his skull, clarions wailing _danger! danger!_ while his heart beat a tattoo on the inside of his rib cage. Share memories, Preacher-man said. Share memories of their daughter and laugh about happy times and sob and watch everyone drown in salt water.

Sweet fucking Jesus, he couldn't do this. Or could he. It didn't matter and it definitely mattered in the same moment. He was very confused, very conflicted. Where had the time gone? Why did this shit always happen to him? To his friends, to his family?

Howie's grip on his shoulder had turned white-hot and agonizing, too tight. Eddie glanced up at his best friend, his not-brother, took note of the silent tears coursing over his cheekbones from haunted dark-blue eyes deep enough to drown a man. "Dude, you're crushing my shoulder," he said, monotone and devoid of emotion.

The blonde boy, who had stuck by his side through long nightmares and beatings and cold winters and one evening where everything came crashing down, looked at him with a blank gaze. Then he blinked slowly, fingers uncurling from their position on Eddie's shoulder and clenching at his side in the next moment. Eddie carried guilt and heartbreak and emptiness and fury and confusion. Howie carried confusion and monstrous appetites, physical attractions mixed with furious bloodlust and darkness that clotted behind blue eyes.

They carried things, these brothers in everything but blood, intangible things that weighed more than the universe.

"You should go up there," Eddie said. "She was your friend, too."

For a moment, Howie was silent, dark azure eyes staring up at the stick-thin brunette girl sharing some asinine memory about how Liza was the nicest person, like, _ever_ and how it was such a tragedy that she was gone. Such a goddamn tragedy. Always a tragedy. Never a horrific act of murderous intent, never a travesty, never a cause for riot or backlash. Jesus, when did everyone become so fucking shallow?

So fucking blind?

Howie nodded once, short and sharp, and walked up to the podium with faltering steps. He looked like a soldier come back from war, corpses screaming behind a blank gaze and face a mask of indifference. He stood ramrod straight, taller than Eddie remembered him being, blonde hair immaculately styled in a manner reminiscent of one Draco Malfoy. Were it a bit lighter, the red-headed teen could've mistaken his best friend for the well-known Slytherin.

Young Howie Jones had developed a mask to protect him from the world and it was a monstrously beautiful thing.

"Liza was my sister," Howie began, voice calm. "She was my friend. She was someone who stepped into a room and made things bright again, who smiled so effortlessly it was almost criminal. Liza was a star wrapped in pink, with blonde hair and blue eyes, and she helped make me into the person I am today. Because she was funny. And she was clever. And she could have held the world in the palm of her hand one day because _everyone_ loved being near her. Liza Evans was my sister, my friend."

Silence hung like fog as the boy paused to gather his thoughts. His eyes were dark, stormy and filled with something that surpassed emotion. And for the first time since he left the hospital, Eddie felt something that wasn't rage or burning or confusion or numbness.

He felt a kinship to his brother and it meant more than anything.

"And what happened to Liza Evans wasn't a tragedy," Howie continued. His tone was full of quiet venom, acid. "What happened on that night was something despicable. It was senseless and monstrous and cruel. It was insanity wrapped in the guise of tragedy, and I _hate_ that it occurred. Liza was my sister and because of those. . . things, I'm never going to get to see her again. I'll never hug her or play soccer with her or call her Bubbles. She won't laugh at me or tell raunchy jokes anymore because she's _gone_. And I would like to say that the fact that I knew her for so long, the fact that I got to be so close to her for ten years, made up for all those memories that we won't get to make. But it doesn't.

It sounds selfish, I know. But I almost feel like I'm entitled to be selfish at this point, and I feel that Mr. and Mrs. Evans have every right to be selfish at this point too. Those monsters left us behind in a world without Liza. She was my friend and my sister and I loved her. I'm sorry I couldn't save her, truly, and I'm sorry that it isn't me laying in that casket right now. Because I feel that life would've been just that much brighter if Liza had been allowed to live rather than me."

Howie finished his speech stoically, blank gaze running over sobbing masses while he smoothed imaginary wrinkles out of his immaculately pressed shirt. The lanky fourteen year old stepped down from his position behind the podium, walking over to where Mrs. Jones sat. He then leaned over and squeezed her tightly, whispering something in her ear while she sobbed into his neck, fingers clutching the back of his ebony suit jacket.

Something in Eddie's chest cracked while he watched his best friend.

He wanted to scream until his fucking throat split open and released all his demons into the world so they could get Liza back.

Instead, he sat quietly in his wheelchair, clutching his mother's hand as she tried not to openly sob. He didn't look at her when Howie sat down to her left. He didn't look at them when his best friend pulled his mother into a side-armed hug and buried his face in her hair and cried. He just kept staring at the flower arrangement sitting directly in front of him. It was small, black and red roses arranged tastefully in an elegant vase. Ebony sparkled in the harsh fluorescent lights, false dewdrops gleaming like blood on red petals.

They looked like her blood. Red on asphalt, turning black as it clotted, cloying in its iron smell and he could taste it on the back of his tongue if he thought too hard on it.

Eddie didn't cry during Liza's funeral.

There were no tears left to cry.

* * *

When they get back to the Clancy Estate, Eddie watched his mother brew a pot of tea while he and Howie sat at the kitchen table.

For all the decay on the outside, Adrianna had made the inside of her home rather elegant. The floors were dark walnut, tongue and groove, immaculately clean in a way that screamed her need for control. The cabinets hung straight, no creaky hinges, light hickory wood full of dark knots with dark brass knobs. The appliances were black. Granite counter-tops and black-on-copper back splash and red earthenware plates that reminded him of blood.

Eddie idly scratched the skin around his casts as his mind floated back to that night once more.

He still had questions and his mind still screamed and this was all so fucking weird. He felt like a mannequin or a machine, a cyborg, not a human. God, why couldn't things just be fucking simple? Just goddamn once, it would be nice if his life were normal and simple. But of course it was his life so logic dictated that, no, things would never be simple because he was Edward Anton Matthews and God fucking hated his guts.

Adrianna placed a mug of tea - jasmine if his nose told him correctly - and two Vicodin tablets in front of him. "Take your medicine, _copil_. Then I'll answer any questions you might have."

He was silent as he popped the magic painkillers. Howie was pale, rocking back and forth and back again as he gnawed his lower lip. His mother looked up at his best friend, circling the table and placing her hands atop his shoulders before leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of his head. It was a familiar motion, one she'd performed on him countless times in the cluster-fuck of events after That Night. And it seemed to calm Howie down fractionally. His body relaxed fully in response to her touch, and he nodded in response to whatever silent communication she made.

"Alright, Eddie, what questions do you have for me?" Adrianna sighed. She plopped into a chair across from him and sat cross-legged, gaze neutral.

Eddie quirked an eyebrow at her. "I think it's more accurate to ask what questions _don't_ I have for you."

"That sounds fair," she agreed. Her laugh was humorless, more self-deprecating than anything. "Where would you like to begin?"

The teenager thought for a moment. Where _did_ he want to begin? Howie beat him to the punch, though, dark azure eyes wide and shadowed and haunted all at once as he asked, "What exactly is an upir? Am I a vampire or a monster or a demon or just some freaky type of human that eats blood?"

Adri ran a hand through her long fire-red hair nervously, eyes tracing a particularly interesting knot in the wooden table. "The upir are an ancient race. We've been around for centuries, living among humans from the beginning. We're not like the vampires you're used to. At least, not exactly." She sighed, and her voice dropped to a resigned murmur as she continued. "Upir do feed on human blood. And our society does tend to live in shadows; it goes without saying that normal humans would 'disapprove' of our dietary habits. We have our own kings and queens, our own laws and codes of conduct. But upir also possess gifts that do not fall within the normal vampire mythology stories."

Howie nodded gently. "So, like that whole vampires can't go into churches or be in sunlight is a crock of shit?"

Verdant eyes flashed over at the teenager. "Language, Howie. But, you are correct. Upir are immortal and we do have advanced healing capabilities; however, we are not susceptible to weaknesses outlined by popular culture. The only way an upir can be killed is by decapitation or by being stabbed through the heart."

Eddie shot his mother an odd look, a questioning one. "You said something about gifts. What do you mean by that? Can you, like, read minds or something?"

For a moment, Adrianna said nothing, just stared down at the table with a furrowed brow. Her skin was pale like milk and it glowed in the afternoon light that filtered through the window panes. She looked ethereal and unearthly and old as the Earth, and Eddie felt a stab of uncertainty. Then she spoke, her voice ghosting over him in that familiar Transylvanian accent and he relaxed again.

"Each upir, whether born or turned, is blessed with a single gift. No more, no less. This gift often depends upon that particular upir's bloodline or sire, but they all fall into one of seven categories. There are Trackers, Warriors, Necromancers, Mages, Seers, Enchanters, and Destroyers. The levels of power vary from person to person, but the categories are fairly self-explanatory. Trackers hone in on an upir's specific Aura - which is like an energy fingerprint - to find those they are ordered to find. Warriors have specific fighting skills, whether they be hand-to-hand or the ability to flawlessly wield any weapon. Necromancers can re-animate corpses for tasks. Mages are rather the catch-all category, so they're fairly difficult to explain. Seers are just as they sound - they can see the future. Enchanters are able to hypnotize both upir and humans alike, bending them to their will and leaving them to take the blame for actions they don't remember. And Destroyers. . . " Adri trailed off, eyes haunted.

"Destroyers can kill those they deem unworthy in unimaginable ways. They are dangerous, and often Destroyer upir end up going mad."

Eddie gulped. But the rage deep in his black-hole soul refused to bow to the shadows dancing in his mother's viridian gaze and he needed fucking answers, so the fourteen year old boy leaned forward and asked, "So what category did those savage assholes that killed Liza fall into?"

Again, his mother shot him a look that consisted of razors and vitriol and hissed, "Language, young man!" But then she sighed, once more running a hand through her hand. It was a nervous tick, one which both boys had noticed early on in their new relationship with the Transylvanian woman. However, neither one said anything. They had no room to judge nervous ticks, not when they were so full of nothingness and rage.

"The girl, Bellatrix Lemercier, is supposedly the most gifted Tracker born in almost three centuries. Her mother, Liliana, is a particularly strong Necromancer. And her father is a Warrior, a blood-thirsty monster if there ever was one. It only makes sense she would be so deranged and gifted. Samael Marlow is also a Warrior. I'm familiar with him - we ran in the same circles at one point - and he is credited with having killed the most sentient beings of any upir in history. Serge, though. . ."

Again his mother trailed off, ghosts and shadows crossing her pale face, and Eddie felt something close to disgust well up inside of him. She looked like someone reminiscing over a lost lover or an abusive ex. And that bastard had killed Liza, had stood smirking as his best friends bled out on the pavement with those fucking red eyes. But he couldn't hate his mother, not really, so he just narrowed his eyes and leaned forward on one elbow to hear the rest her tale.

Adri continued seconds later. "Serge D'angoulême is an Enchanter, a powerful one. He once convinced Samael's father to dance around in his underwear whilst proclaiming himself a fairy queen. Of course, Lord Marlow wasn't exactly happy about that. But there was no retaliation because Serge is one of the most influential upir living today behind my sister."

A frown curled Howie's lips. "Why did he get one of his vassal's to dance around in his underwear?"

"He did it for me," Adrianna confessed quietly. "Lord Marlow had made a rather crude comment in my direction earlier that day, so Serge took it upon himself to make the man apologize. Granted, his methods could have used some work. We were betrothed at the time."

Eddie's world collapsed around his ears.

Jesus motherfucking Christ, why couldn't life just cut him one goddamn break?

* * *

 **A/N: Hello once again my lovely people!**

 **Jesus, it's been a while huh? Life has been pretty hectic - note to all the kiddies out there, adulting is hard - so I haven't exactly had time to work on this story. But I'm back with a new chapter, and honestly, I'm pretty happy with this one. Eddie in this world won't be the same immature little shit he was at the beginning. He can't be, because trauma does some horrendously fucked-up things to kiddies.**

 **And Howie, while still being my precious cinnamon roll, will have more jagged edges than the boy in my one-shots. He's been turned into an upir at age fourteen. It's understandable that he'd have a few more issues than he did before that transition. Now, he won't exactly be in a physical stasis for the rest of the story - that wouldn't be conducive to my headcanon environment. But you'll see more of a physical toll begin to take hold in future chapters.**

 **I'm sorry Hatter, but I can't resist the call of my demon-half.**

 **The precious nugget named Adrianna shall indeed suffer as the story progresses. She shall suffer as she has never suffered before. But beautiful things must be broken before they can be built up once more, so it'll all work out in the end.**

 **But first comes the pain.**

 **Thank you once again for reading this chapter of my creation, and please leave a comment in the little white box of sins below!**

 **BlackRosePoetry**


	8. We Shot for the Moon and Missed

**Chapter Eight: We Shot for the Moon and Missed. . . .**

Eddie went back to school only two weeks after Liza's death.

The stares followed him everywhere. From his locker to his classes, tracing the fading green and yellow bruises and the frayed, dirty edges of his casts. He hated them. Eddie hated those stares with a passion, wanted to rip people's eyes from their heads and scream himself hoarse. But the whispers. . . .

Those damn whispers were a million times more infuriating. They floated on the edge of his hearing, tickled his ears and said things like _"do you think he's crazy"_ and " _dude he looks different_ " and " _what the hell happened?_ " He wanted to rip out tongues and scream until everything shattered around him. Until pieces of insanity, chunks of tar, of blood and indifference and confusion fell to the floor like raindrops. Nothing would ever be the same. His mother had made that very clear as she cried silently into his hair on a cold November night. _  
_

Of _course_ I'm crazy, Eddie thought, because he watched someone he loved dearly get drained dry by a psychotic upir.

Of _course_ he looked different because he wasn't quite human, not quite upir, he was something in between. Something different and strange that made him a target.

And of fucking _course_ he couldn't tell anyone what happened because no one would believe him. Vampires weren't real, and they didn't kill pretty little teenage freshmen with sapphire eyes on cold November nights. It was a tragedy, an accident, what happened. And really Eddie sustained quite the head-injury, so it stood to reason that he'd be a bit "confused", a bit "disturbed" by everything.

Eddie went back to school only two weeks after Liza's death.

He wished to God that he could've curled up in bed and just died.

* * *

His Grams hadn't seemed all that concerned when he asked to move in with his mother.

She was forever acidic and bitter, like coffee, with a sharp mud-brown gaze that screamed disapproval. There were no hugs, no pleads for him to reconsider and stay. Grams just packed all his belongings, placed them on the porch for him and Howie to move. She was never a cuddly grandmother. Never one for physical affection. Always ready for a stern rebuke but not a word of praise. Eddie remembered this well, kept his disdain for the woman who had raised him close to his heart and locked in a special iron box no one could ever touch.

After everything, the fifteen year old wondered if his grandmother had ever really loved him, even a little.

"She's trouble, boy," Grams had croaked in her heavy smoker's voice. "That girl did nothing but drag your father down, and she turned away from you two without a second thought. What's gonna happen when she gets tired of you?"

In that moment, Eddie felt rage. So much rage. He wanted to scream, to get in her face and shriek until the papery skin peeled from her nicotine-riddled bones. What had she ever done for him? What had his father done besides leave him with mental scars and bruises and a broken heart? Where the _fuck_ did she get off saying that his mother was trouble? The feelings were black like ink, like shadow, and he carried them like dead-weight on his soul. Like scars which itched despite having been healed.

Howie had been the one to do something Eddie had always wanted to do. Even-tempered, mild-mannered Howie - who never had a cross thing to say about anyone - had looked at Grams with fathomless dark-blue eyes. His expressions were always closed off and cold now, never open or warm or smiling like they once were. There were scars on his throat that faded by the day. But that particular day, that one moment, became a turning point for his not-brother. Because Howie turned to Eddie's grandmother and snarled the one phrase that the red-headed boy had wanted to say for years.

"Shut the fuck up, you stupid bitch. C'mon, Eddie. Let's go."

His Grams didn't seem all that concerned when he asked to move in with his mother.

And Eddie really wondered sometimes if his Grams had ever really loved him at all.

But Eddie left the house with scars on his heart and a triumphant smile on his face because - while nothing would ever be the same - at least he still had Howie and his mother standing behind him.

* * *

The day he moved out was the day Eddie got his casts taken off.

His doctors said his healing rate was remarkable, unprecedented, a goddamn miracle. It took every ounce of his self-control not to snort at his mother's expression. Because for a human it would've been a miracle, but he was anything but human.

Not when his mother was an upir and Liza was six feet under.

Eddie went back to school two weeks after Liza's funeral. And despite the stares and the whispers and the _fury_ welling up inside him, the fifteen year old was learning things. And school was giving him something to think about other than how Liza's pretty sapphire eyes clouded in death and how her blood spread like spilled ink across the asphalt. School would never be enjoyable, but it did provide an escape of some sort.

Howie didn't go back to school for at least another week.

There were things _wrong_ in his not-brother's head, nightmares that wouldn't go away and demons that clawed at the inside of his skull. Howie was sick. Broken. Empty. He was Humpty Dumpty, shoved off the wall by a monster with red eyes and now the pieces needed to be glued back together. Oddly enough, it was Adrianna, his mother with her pretty green eyes and her scars and her secrets that helped pull the nerd out of the silent, brooding upir that Howie had become. Because she could help him control the thirst. And she could help him heal the wounds, slowly and bit-by-bit but surely, turning raw lacerations in a fragile psyche into pearled wounds. Eddie was eternally marveling at her.

And Howie pretty much lived with them now, anyway, sleeping on his floor in a cocoon of blankets nearly four nights a week. His father couldn't understand what had happened, throwing out words like "therapy" and "doctors" and "PTSD" and "not-quite-right." And Howie couldn't just tell his dad that he was a blood-sucking creature of the night, turned by his algebra teacher to keep him from dying like Liza. So the blonde teen did what he did best and avoided inevitable confrontations for as long as possible.

Naturally, this meant that questions were asked frequently in the Tepes household. Some were answered plainly, others cryptically, and still others were completely ignored.

Howie loved trying to unravel the riddle that was Adrianna.

Eddie, however, did not because riddles pissed him off when they refused to be solved.

* * *

 _"What do you mean that Serge was your fiance?"_

 _His mother had regarded Eddie with fathomless eyes that shone viridescent under kitchen lights. They were eating spaghetti and meatballs for dinner - Howie's favorite - and the prospect of food was almost enough to turn the teenagers off the topic. Almost, but not quite. Because Eddie couldn't forget those bloody red eyes and that condescending smirk and the way Liza's blood coagulated on dark pavement. Because Howie still had nightmares about fangs piercing his throat and the inability to breathe and a high-cold laugh that echoed on too-still air._

 _They deserved an answer._

 _Eddie watched as his mother sighed heavily. Her hand ran through long sunset curls again. "Arranged marriages aren't all that uncommon in upir society, little one. Serge and I were betrothed by the time we both could walk. I didn't have any choice in the matter."_

 _There was a look of intense scrutiny morphing Howie's normally blank face. "So you would never have chosen Serge as a husband on your own if you'd been given the choice?"_

 _Something in his mother's verdant eyes set Eddie's teeth on edge, and he clenched his fist around his fork until the knuckles turned white and metal bent to his will. She looked wistful, contemplative, existing in a world all her own, and he didn't like it. Adrianna Tepes was a wonderful mother - Eddie loved her dearly - but after that look grew in her eyes she shut down for hours on end. And he didn't want to lose her one of those episodes, not now. Not when he and Howie both needed her so very desperately._

 _"That's not entirely true," Adri murmured quietly. "Serge and I were best friends for years. He was my knight in shining armor, always there when I needed him most. And he loved me; he still loves me. But I was never one to just bend to my mother's will. . . "_

 _There was more to that story, Eddie could tell. But the look in her eyes told him that his mother wasn't about to finish. At least, not right now. So the red-headed teenager did what he did what he thought best and followed up with another question._

 _"So you never told us what kind of gift you have," he blurted suddenly. "I, for one, am firmly in the camp that you're an Enchanter. Because there is no way in Hell that you can control a room as easily as you do without using some sort of mind control."_

 _Slowly, the frightening wistful look in her green eyes went away. Adrianna laughed gently, and both boys took comfort in its light-hearted sound._

 _They hadn't lost her to the memories this time._

 _Adri shot her son an arrogant smirk, the elegant lines of her face cut sharp under the low lights of the kitchen. She looked completely otherworldly, and not for the first time Eddie was struck hard by the fact that his mother was decidedly not human. Razor-edged fangs peeked out from beneath her lips, and neither boy could suppress a light shudder as she purred, "Now what ever would give you that idea, Eddie? Is it so impossible that I could control a group of children without Influence?"_

 _Howie frowned at the implication. "So you **aren't** an Enchanter then?"_

 _Verdant gemstones turned to regard the newly-turned upir in amusement, and Howie had to violently suppress the urge to cower away. Those were the eyes of a predator, a killer looking down at prey. And though he knew that Adri would never hurt him or Eddie, the blonde boy couldn't help but shudder at what horrendous things those eyes had bore witness to. Adrianna's smile turned smug once more as she took in his reaction, and the petite woman leaned back in her chair triumphantly._

 _" **That** is how I control a classroom, little one," she cooed. "To an upir, humans are prey items. And the prey automatically bow to the will of the predator, regardless of whether or not they know they're doing it or not."_

 _Both boys stared at her, stunned at the confession. All those years, all that time, she'd never used mind-control at all. It wasn't hypnotism or flashing green eyes or an eerie green brooch that made them obey. It was the primal instinct of a prey animal trying to keep the stronger predator from consuming them. Holy fucking shit, that was terrifying and cool as hell all in one breath._

 _"Jesus Horatio Christ, Mom, that's creepy!" Eddie complained. "And completely unfair because you still haven't told us what gift you have."_

 _Adrianna threw back her head and laughed at her son's indignation. "I'm sorry, copil. But it's entirely true. I'm not an Enchanter."_

 _"So what are you?" Howie questioned. His eyes were still cold, still hollow and broken. However, there was a spark of the old Howie lying somewhere in their cobalt depths._

 _"Guess."_

* * *

They had guessed for what seemed like hours, throwing out powers left and right that seemed like they could fit. And all either boy received was an enigmatic smile as Adrianna moved to clean up their dirty dishes. It was frustrating as hell.

Eddie fucking hated trying to solve riddles.

He wasn't dumb, not really, but things like that made his head ache.

However, one night as he was lying in his new bed, listening to the house creak around him and demons creep along the walls, Eddie realized something monumentally important. His mother wasn't an Enchanter - that much he knew - but she still terrified the monsters that had come to kill him that night so very long ago. His mother, tiny and petite and appearing as though a stiff wind could carry her away, had _terrified_ them.

Adrianna Tepes was someone powerful, someone to be revered and feared and worshiped.

The fourteen year old thought carefully about the other classes of upir Gifts his mother had described. _Necromancer . . ?_ No - the look of revulsion that had twisted his mother's face as she described Necromancers ruled that out. She would never have been able to tolerate herself. _Seer. . .?_ Definitely not: That Night would never have happened had she been able to see the future. Trackers wouldn't command that much command or awe.

That left three: Mage, Warrior, or Destroyer?

Which one would strike such fear? Would cause those three monsters to fear his tiny, petite mother so very deeply? Something deep in Eddie's gut told him she wasn't a Destroyer. The name tasted wrong on his tongue, like char on a piece of meat or rotten fruit or spoiled milk.

Eddie pressed his palms into his eyes and clenched his teeth until his jaw ached.

God, he fucking hated riddles. . . .

* * *

Howie went back to school on the Monday before Christmas break.

The whispers were louder when Howie came back, floating less on the edge of hearing and rising into a cacophony of irritating babble in the background. It was constant, ceaseless and unrelenting and every other synonym that Eddie didn't have the energy to come up with. And because they didn't have any similar classes save algebra, he couldn't protect his not-brother from those vicious rumors and insensitive questions and annoying bitchy girls.

 _"Why is he so pale?"_ and " _I heard he and Liza were dating"_ and _"He isn't the same, he never smiles, I wonder what's going on?_ " followed Howie everywhere. Gone were the sheepish smiles, the thick-rimmed glasses, the hunched shoulders and desperate need to disappear. The blonde fifteen year old was all cold stares and shadowed blue eyes. He moved like a wraith, ignoring the venomous whispers more gracefully than Eddie had.

Lunch time was interesting. Because Howie scarfed down three cheeseburgers and four cartons of chocolate milk and two helpings of fries before the twenty-minute period was over. People looked over at their table as though the blonde boy had grown an extra head. To anyone else, the situation would've been humorous. But it wasn't funny, not anymore.

Because Eddie was acutely aware that no matter how much "human" food his best friend not-brother consumed, he'd be constantly hungry. Constantly thirsty for crimson blood that would spill from arteries, from veins, coagulating between fangs and running down his throat until the body became dead and cold. It was a hard thought. It left a bitter feeling in the red-headed boy's gut that burned like acid.

By seventh period, Eddie was ready to start throwing punches and screaming.

Howie hadn't said a word all day.

Algebra would never be difficult for Eddie, nor would it ever be difficult for Howie. If there was one thing that both boys grasped particularly well, it was mathematics. But it wasn't the course material that made seventh period the worst period to get through.

It was the silence. And the whispers. And the stares of other freshmen, stares from kids who just didn't _get it_ and never would because they hadn't watched someone they loved get murdered. They hadn't been turned into something that wasn't human, something that was dangerous and potentially monstrous. The longer he sat there and listened to his mother outline their next lesson the more Eddie's skin itched. The harder his jaw and fists clenched.

He wanted to throw chairs at bitches.

He wanted to scream and shout and cry and leave everyone in a puddle of quivering terror.

Howie didn't say anything. But as time passed his shoulders tensed. And his eyes darkened, sharpened, morphing into icy tar-pits with jagged edges and blizzards raging behind them.

Melody hadn't sat with them. She was sitting in the corner with her athletic friends, chocolate eyes questioning and cutting and accusing as she whispered. Those were the condemning whispers, the quiet little venomous words that swirled around their heads like daggers, punched into flesh with the intent of maiming. Of wounding. Of hurting. But never killing. Because Melody, despite their friendship and not having seen what happened, blamed both her once-friends for the death of her best-friend and sister.

Those were the words that hurt the most.

Because they came from someone that had once been his other sister.

The bell rang after class, loud and jarring in the silence, became a relief for the two brothers who had survived another day in scholarly hell. Eddie gathered his textbook and notes and tried to relax his jaw as best he could. His leg throbbed in time with his heartbeat. Howie didn't move for a long moment, staring intensely at where his fingers dug into the fabric of his blue-jeans.

"Don't do anything stupid, Howie," Eddie ground out. "They're not worth it."

Howie didn't say anything.

A whisper floated up from the back of the room, one that hurt, in a voice that was all too familiar. "They should've died that night, too."

Something snapped behind icy tar-pitch eyes and suddenly Howie was moving, floating across the move with a face that was contorted into a death-mask of rage. He was tall and he was bestial and he cornered Melody against the back wall, gaze sharper than razors. Eddie watched in a mixture of horror and elation and fascination. Because this person, this angry visceral beast, wasn't his brother.

It was the upir that had replaced him.

"Bite your tongue," Howie snarled. "Bite your tongue and don't _ever_ talk about something you don't know anything about again. Get out of my sight."

Melody's eyes had glazed over. Her tongue was clamped firmly between her teeth, crimson welling up around white enamel, and she turned to leave the room without another word. No one else had seen, save Eddie and his mother. Howie stood panting at the back of the room for a long while, shoulders tense and fists clenched and head bowed.

Adrianna slowly made her way over to where the newly-turned upir stood. Gently, she placed her hand on his shoulder, turning the fifteen-year-old to face her. Tears ran over Howie's cheeks. Eddie felt like punching the wall, but that would only break his hand so he just stood in silence to watch events unfold. His mother whispered quietly, gently.

Howie leaned forward with a sob and clung to his mother for dear life. Eddie only caught a few words that his not-brother gasped out, but it was enough to make his blood run cold.

"It should've been us. . . should've been me. . . so sorry."

Howie came back to school the Monday before Christmas break.

And the day he came back to school was the day Howie figured out he was an Enchanter.

Fucking shit, bro.

* * *

The halls of Castle Draculi were always cold and damp, wind whistling through the frozen stone and helpless screams drifting up from the dungeons below. Decayed tapestries hung over damp walls and red velvet carpets ran through the hallways like capillaries. Tokens of the ancient House of Tepes littered every room, and shadows danced in corners just out of sight. It was a perpetually inhospitable place, one that no upir could truly enjoy being in if they still maintained their sanity.

So it stood to reason that Serge D'angoulême absolutely _despised_ the place.

The House of Demons, however, had obligations which needed to be fulfilled. Attending conferences with the queen in this hell-hole was a necessary evil, and it served a very important purpose. Well, more than one important purpose, in fact. But those purposes were secrets, things that the legendary Enchanter would never admit to anyone under threat of dissection. Because they could get people he loved killed by someone with far more power than she had any right to possess.

Serge adjusted the cuffs on his perfectly tailored suit and arranged his face into a careful mask of arrogant, lazy confidence. The vipers that lived here could smell weakness a continent away, and Bellatrix couldn't be trusted not to lose what little grasp on reality she had in the face of her queen. No, this was something he needed to do alone, and masks were needed in upir court if one was to succeed.

When one played the game, they won or they died.

There was no in between.

And with that last thought, Serge swept into the throne-room of Castle Draculi, movements fluid and graceful and masking the feeling of revulsion rising in his stomach. Courtiers swirled around him in various states of dress. There were pale women in evening gowns and dark-skinned teens with dreadlocks and leather. There were men with bloody eyes and women who oozed sexuality, fire blooming on their fingertips and curiosity in amber gazes as they watched the scion of the House of Demons lope past them.

And on the throne sat the one woman whom Serge despised above all others: Ioana Tepes, Queen of the Upir, Empress of the Shadow Kingdom. Lady Death, as she was aptly titled.

Ioana watched him with a lazy, sociopath's gaze. She was beautiful to look at, painfully so, all elfin angles and pale skin and delicate grace. Her lips were painted crimson, curled up at the edges as she watched his progress. They contrasted heavily with the inky waterfall of ebony curls that fell to her slender waist. A wrought-iron crown rested atop her head. It seemed to mock him, that crown, resting so delicately on one who did not deserve it in the slightest.

Lady Death's bright violet eyes certainly did.

Finally, Serge found himself standing before the throne. He dropped into a low, elegant bow as the empty chatter around him died. It left silence behind, heavy and oppressive. It took everything in the tall Frenchmen not to shudder under its weight.

"Serge, I did not expect you to be back from your mission so soon," Ioana purred. "Tell me, did my big sister cry at the loss of her little half-breed spawn? Has the traitor lost all hope?"

Rage welled up in Serge's chest at her mocking tone. However, the young upir male had grown up in this nest of vipers, and his acting abilities surpassed any other member of the court. So he plastered on an expression of apologetic distress, gazing up at the monarch he despised with a beseeching crimson gaze. Immediately, the look of lazy triumph left Ioana's beautiful face.

Internally, Serge grinned.

"Your Grace, I regret to inform you that we were unsuccessful in our quest to kill the half-breed. Adrianna came to his aid before the job could be finished."

The entire court seemingly held its collective breath, all eyes on their ruler. She had gone completely still, features carved in marble. Rage burned behind her violet eyes, hot and violent and entirely insane. Serge braced himself for the inevitable.

Ioana exploded. Tall and willowy, the Queen of the Upir sprang from her throne in a burst of power. Her low-cut silver gown glittered ominously in the low light of the Throne Room as she moved, and her beautiful face grew ugly in its fury. "Get out, everyone! Get the fuck out now!"

In a matter of seconds, Serge found himself standing before his queen in isolation.

"How in the seven hells did you manage to let my sister get the better of you?" Ioana snarled. "She's nothing! She's a traitor, a worm, and her filthy half-breed son is no different! So tell me, my darling, why is she not dead along with her spawn?!"

Serge remained outwardly calm even while he seethed on the inside. Spoiled, petulant, narcissistic child that she was, Ioana didn't notice the way his jaw tightened violently as she raged against him. However, she was a _powerful_ spoiled, petulant, narcissistic child. It wouldn't do for that power to be directed against him - he had a duty to his family after all - so Serge did what he did best.

He charmed his way out of a tight spot like a greasy weasel.

"Your Grace, my I be allowed to explain my actions?" Serge crooned.

Ioana scowled heavily. However, she waved her hand for him to continue. "By all means, do, Serge. See if it saves your slimy hide."

"Adrianna, while not possessing the same skill-set as Your Grace, is powerful in her own right. In a full-on fight, my vassals and I did not have the power to bring her down. And the half-breed displayed surprising skills of his own, even thought it seemed he had no idea what he was capable of. It would not have been prudent in the long run to try and take down your sister."

For a moment, Ioana said nothing. She just stood a little ways off from him, stewing in her rage while her mind processed what her "servant" had just said. Eventually, bright violet eyes turned and regarded Serge coldly. The queen drew herself to her full height, chin raised arrogantly as she regarded the man who was meant to destroy her sister.

"Follow me."

With that, Ioana stalked out of the room. Serge followed her without much fuss, a bit wary as to the intentions of his tempestuous ruler. They made their way down a winding labyrinth of corridors, deeper into the castle where no sunlight ever touched. The smell of damp and decay worsened, mixing in with a perfume of blood and fecal matter and urine. Screams echoed from silver-barred cells as they passed.

Screams of pain. Screams for mercy. Screams of those who knew their situation was pathetically hopeless in the long-run.

Finally, after what seemed like endless cells countless hours of travel, Ioana stopped in front of a cell. She gestured for a nearby guard to open the door, and he did so without looking directly at the feared queen. She entered the cell with chin held high and heels clicking on the cold flagstone below, not even bothering to look back and see if Serge was following.

He was, of course, because nobody dared defy Ioana Tepes and expect to live.

Serge took his time in following, but he finally stepped into the disgusting dark space. His nose wrinkled in distaste at the stench surrounding him, and he avoided the copious amounts of blood on the floor delicately. Italian loafers didn't approve of being coated in body fluids. A man knelt in the center of the room, flesh sizzling and raw around the chains that bound him to the walls. His hair was matted, falling out in places, and filth coated every inch of his body. It was saying a lot, as the poor sod was naked.

Ioana's face had drawn into a sugary-sweet grin. She looked demented in the low light of the dungeon, violet eyes glowing ultra bright in the darkness. One immaculately heeled shoe darted out like a viper to kick the prisoner, landing solid contact against his prominent ribs. The man screeched, and Serge idly took note of the chelsea grin someone had painstakingly carved into his cheeks. The edges were ragged, bits blackened and pus forming around his yellow teeth.

Poor bastard. . .

"Do you know who this man is, my darling?" Ioana cooed.

Serge, ever the obedient puppet, shook is head. Inky curls fell over her bare shoulders as the queen cocked her head to the side. That shark's grin widened dramatically. Slowly, Ioana reached out and grasped the prisoner's hair, yanking his head back quickly. Again, he let out a piteous wail, blood gushing over his neck. Serge nearly gasped in surprise as he finally realized who Ioana had chained in front of her.

It was Elijah Crowe.

This was the man who had practically _raised_ both Adrianna and Ioana, the faithful butler and vassal of House Tepes. He was the man Adrianna considered a father over the son of a bitch that sired of her. He was a surprisingly good person in a pit of vipers.

Goddammit, Ioana.

"Darling Eli here decided that he was going to defy me," Ioana crooned. "He claimed that dear Adrianna was the rightful queen. I decided to correct him. Is it working, Elijah? Have you finally come to your senses?"

Serge watched in horror as Elijah turned hopeless amber eyes to him, only to look up at the manic queen with a stone-cold expression on his face. There was nothing to lose. Not now, not when Ioana had actually fallen so very far away from reality. And both upir men knew this on levels that surpassed normal contemplation.

"Long live Queen Adrianna," Elijah rasped.

Again, Ioana cocked her head to the side, much like a child observing an insect right before it pulls of its legs. The glow in her violet eyes brightened, concentrated to brilliant scintillating points in her pale face. For a moment, nothing happened. The cell was deathly silent and screaming all at once.

And then Elijah began gurgling. Blood gushed from his mouth and nose and ears, crimson stark against his filthy skin. His eyes bulged with blood vessels and his skin reddened as the once life-giving liquid seeped into tissue. Everything was coming apart. He coughed, trying to gasp for air, and flesh spattered from between his ruined lips. Ioana released her hold on his hair, letting the frail body drop at her immaculate heels, and Elijah's body jerked like a puppet with cut strings.

The gasping and gurgling and the wet sound of flesh tearing broke the veil of silence around them.

Finally, Elijah Crowe stopped moving, dead on the floor at Lady Death's feet.

It was the single most horrific thing Serge had ever witnessed.

Uncaring of her vassal's horror, Ioana stepped over the corpse and stood before him. Long crimson nails grasped Serge's chiseled jaw hard enough to draw blood, forcing the French upir to look her in the eye. She hadn't stopped smiling, not once, during the entire process of destroying her once-caretaker. Her fangs glittered like her dress and her eyes and the demons that lurked just beneath the beautiful surface.

"Change of plans, darling," Ioana purred. "You and your little stooges are going to go back to America. You will find my sister and her spawn. You will capture them - not kill them, mind you, capture - and you will bring them back here to me. And, if the House of Demons is indeed as loyal as you say you are, the entire court will watch as I destroy Adrianna Tepes. Is that entirely understood?"

Slowly, painfully, Serge nodded as rage and terror swelled up in his chest.

Ioana's grin softened around the edges. "Good," she pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, "Now go. And don't fail me again. Or there will be consequences."

The head of the House of Demons left the cell numb and horrified, hands shaking violently at the thought of what Ioana was going to do to his beautiful Adrianna. What she was going to do to that boy, who had absolutely no idea what he was or what he was capable of. A boy who had his entire life ahead of him, who didn't realize how much his mother had sacrificed for him.

 _My darling, I am so very sorry. . . ._

 _Please forgive me. . ._

Serge emerged into the night, calling for Bellatrix and Samael as he went. There was work to be done in the name of the queen, and the House of Demons would follow through.

He would not fail again.


	9. Deep Into That Darkness Peering

**Chapter Nine: Deep Into that Darkness Peering. . .**

Ioana enjoyed screaming. High-pitched wails and gut-wrenching shrieks. Guttural moans of agony and the distinctive, blood-curdling sound of a death rattle. Screams were pure. They couldn't lie. It was a simple fact, really. The youngest child of the House of Tepes was no stranger to torture, heinous acts of violence that scarred flesh and spilt blood and made the air ripple with the sound of ultrasonic cries of pain. Pleads for benevolence, for lenience. It did not matter what sort of torture occurred, to be perfectly frank, because the outcome was always the same. _Always_. Begs and pleads and screams for mercy that would never come.

Not from her, anyways.

The infamous Queen of the Upir did not feel mercy. It was a weakness, one that she had crushed like an injured bird from the time she was able to understand what hatred was. Walking through life without remorse made everything so much easier, so terribly simple. If you want something, take it. If you want someone, possess them, own them. And should someone hurt you, encroach upon your territory where they did not belong?

 _Destroy_ them.

So it was with a distinct feeling of relish that Ioana watched the young upir at the foot of her throne sob, screaming in agony and begging for her to just let it end. He appeared close to fifteen years old, about the same age as her sister's spawn, all dark hair and pale skin. Bright red eyes with broken blood vessels streamed tears while he shrieked himself hoarse. She could smell the iron in him. He was a courtier's son, someone worthless and expendable, who had made the mistake of looking at her directly. No one looked at her directly. No one. He needed to be punished. To be Destroyed.

Oftentimes, she imagined it was her sister in the stead of those she broke on a daily basis. Pretty, _perfect_ Adrianna, with her petite stature and wide green eyes. Who everyone adored. Daddy's infallible heir and the apple of Mother's eye, pampered by Elijah and adored by all who met her. She held Serge's heart in the palm of her hand. And Ioana simply could not understand _why_. Why did everyone love Adrianna so dearly? None of that affection, that adoration, was warranted. Because her dearest older sister wasn't special, wasn't more beautiful or more Gifted or more intelligent. She was weak and worthless and had the audacity to bring a half-breed parasite into the world when the laws regarding them were very clear.

Rage built in the pit of Ioana's stomach. It was familiar and comforting, soothing as a lullaby, and she allowed it to wash over her while the screams of the boy reached new heights. Daddy was dead and gone. Mother had long-since been Destroyed. But people _still_ worshiped Adrianna. Goddamn Adrianna, with those stupid eyes and her awkward giggling laugh, who insisted upon treating humans civilly and had the audacity to spawn a fucking half-breed with one. The upir loved her, adored their former queen, and she knew this. The thought was enough to make her sick. Adrianna was gone, exiled.

 _She_ was the queen. _She_ had the power. Not Mother, not Daddy, not precious fucking Adri with those thrice-damned eyes. She had everything she had ever wanted, all wrapped up within the ancient walls of Castle Draculi.

Ioana didn't need their love. Or their worship.

What she required from her subjects was unadulterated loyalty, which fear could inspire just as effectively. And she was oh so very good at provoking fear.

A lazy, viper's grin curled Lady Death's mauve painted lips. Gently, so very gently, she reached out with her Gift and took hold of the boy's internal organs. He kept screaming. Begging through the blood that was gushing up his torn windpipe, pleading with eyes that matched his lips in color. She imagined what it would be like to do this to Adrianna's little half-breed. It would be a most gratifying act. Because extreme acts of cruelty, Ioana thought, required a high level of precision. Nothing would be taught if she did not draw it out. So it was with agonizing, deliberate relish that she tightened her grip on the mass of flesh that gave the boy life. Bit by bit, slowly. He had to feel death, needed to know it on an intimate level that many souls did not have the opportunity to experience.

The screams abruptly changed, going from deep unadulterated wails to sharp, gurgling cries. He couldn't breathe. Not when she was tearing his lungs apart from the inside out. And there was no escape, not for him or for anyone she set her sights on. Because _she_ was the one with the power, not Adrianna, not Mother or Daddy or anyone else. The rage in Ioana's gut erupted through violet eyes as she straightened in her carved throne, bore down on the dying child at her feet. His lungs were nearly collapsed now, and he couldn't make a sound. The little whelp just stared up with the expression of one resigned to suffer. Lady Death's smile widened and sharpened around the edges. It was an ugly expression to match an ugly psyche.

Ioana _squeezed_.

Silence. The vast throne room of Castle Draculi was deathly quiet. No one moved. No one dared breathe. Ancient walls, nurtured by its mistress's cruelty and watching with silent relish, feasted on the tainted liquid that oozed over elegantly tiled floors. Lady Death relaxed back into her throne with indolent ease, violet eyes scanning the crowd amassed in terror. She immediately spotted the boy's mother. They shared the same cheekbones and nose, and the eyes that ran awash with salty liquid were exactly like the ones that had attempted to beseech her so pathetically just moments before. Tears of grief had a distinct scent, pungent and cloying like decay. Lady Death took them in, satisfaction purring in harmony with the constant lullaby rage crooned in the back of her mind.

"Dispose of it," Ioana drawled. "I don't care what you do with the body, but get it out of my sight before I decide to do something else unpleasant."

The courtiers scrambled like insects to do her bidding. Two men – boys, really, around nineteen years old and clad in ripped leather – grasped the corpse by his wrists and ankles. They hauled him out like a particularly cumbersome sack of cement, his mother and father following in a distraught haze. Ioana took notice of the fact that neither would look at her directly. No one would, every gaze firmly fixed on the blood-stained floor or shoes or other courtiers. Ugly, vicious grin returning, the queen raised a delicate hand towards her subjects.

"Get out, all of you. Court is adjourned until I decide I wish to see your pathetic skins again."

It took all of two minutes for the remaining courtiers to clear out of the throne room. Silence rang like a funeral dirge in the hollow space. And while Ioana enjoyed screams dearly, there was a certain allure to the sound of empty quiet as well.

One could hear the castle whisper when the screams stopped.

The stones upon which Castle Draculi were founded upon had been fed by blood. The blood of innocents, the blood of ancients, the blood of murderers and thieves and royalty. Feasts of depravity which made the center of the Shadow Kingdom strong. It was an ancient magick. Crimson on snow on stone. And if she let the silence reign, if she listened very carefully, Ioana could tap into the wealth of knowledge that her home provided. Whispers and quiet hisses that spat poison and called for action. Old kings providing advice and recently-deceased souls shrieking, hungry for vengeance. Vendetta, they cried. Destruction on all their souls.

Ioana smiled as Castle Draculi enveloped her in a comforting blanket of white-noise.

The blood on the tiled floor disappeared, swallowed by the beast which had nurtured a monster, and the walls hummed in content.

* * *

"And which unfortunate creature met their untimely demise today, my darling? I do hope it wasn't anybody important - we've lost nearly a third of our old nobility, and the young upir of your court are beginning to grow restless."

Ioana arched a delicate eyebrow at her adviser, violet eyes aglitter with something dangerously close to amusement. Nikolai Sterling was an old upir with nearly four centuries of experience under his belt and a cruel streak wider than Siberia. He was ruthless, cunning, vicious in much the same manner a starving wolf might be. Many of his predecessors were soft. They preached ideas like _mercy_ and _benevolence_ , weakness in its most basic sense. But not Nikolai.

Her newest Royal Adviser was about as forgiving as an Arctic blizzard, and Ioana adored him for it.

"Don't worry your pretty little head, Nikolai," the Queen drawled. "It was just some courtier brat. He wasn't important enough to matter. And besides, he couldn't have been older than fifteen."

The barest hint of a smirk curved Nikolai's thin lips. He offered an arm to his queen, and when she deigned to grasp it, he escorted the tall woman through the veins of Castle Draculi. Torches blazed in their brackets along the hallways. They cast odd shadows in his elegantly smoothed hair, making each white strand seem alive with hellfire. But no matter how much his hair seemed to burn, Ioana always enjoyed how very cold his eyes remained, like frozen quicksilver.

"How goes the search for your sister, Highness?" Nikolai questioned. His voice was a purr, oily and perfectly designed to loosen the tongue of all who heard it. "I was told that Serge and his vassals would be handling it."

Ioana's delicate shoulders stiffened. Her lips drew back in a vicious snarl, and a blood-curdling hiss escaped. "They managed to track her to a small town in America. And they very nearly managed to capture the half-breed spawn she calls a son. However, he seems to have more upir traits than anticipated. He let out a Call, and Adrianna came running before Serge could get away. The House of Demons is gathering reinforcements, and they will return to America in two days time."

The formidable pair swept down a long, darkened corridor which ended in a set of heavy, iron double doors. Gently, Nikolai ran a soothing hand over his queen's forearm, face remaining an unreadable mask.

"May I offer my opinion on the matter?" Forever polite, no matter the atrocity he was about to suggest.

An unladylike snort came in response to his inquiry, and Ioana turned a look of sarcastic derision on the older man. "You're my adviser, Nikolai. It's your job to give your opinion, even when I don't want it."

The look of icy contempt never faded from Nikolai's silver eyes. "Perhaps it is time you found another of your servants to capture Adrianna. We all know of the D'angouleme boy's history with her, and I am firmly under the impression that he still loves her. It could be dangerous, sending him directly into the arms of a woman he loved from the time you were all very small."

For a moment, Lady Death said nothing. They stood before the iron doors in silence, shadows making both faces sharpen into skull-like battle masks. Ioana maintained a tight grip on her adviser's muscular arm, violet gaze sharp and demonic as it bore into the metal before her. Inky curls fell around delicate shoulders when she suddenly raised her chin, bearing arrogant and distinctly royal.

"I have an idea of my own, Lord Sterling," she whispered. "One I believe you will find most agreeable."

With that, she opened the doors before her, all glamour and flourish. The room was massive, very nearly the same size as the Throne Room, though it lacked any and all elegant touches it could have. An iron walk-way surrounded a deep pit in the middle, rails coming up to waist height to prevent spectators from falling into the ring. Various levels of stadium-like seating rose around them, even spanning over top the doorway. Light flooded in from a stained-glass skylight overhead, colors from its ornate design washing over their pale faces and making them seem sickly.

The familiar clang of steel on steel floated through the air, and a true smile spread over Nikolai's severe features. "Ahhh! I think I can see where you're going with this, my darling."

Ioana grinned, all sharp angles mixed with terrifying narcissism, and the formidable pair swept forward in a rustle of silk. The doors creaked shut behind them, Castle Draculi murmuring happily in the queen's ear as blood reds and deep purples stained her white face. Eventually, both Lady Death and her adviser stood near the railing around the pit. It was one of Ioana's favorites, this room, a gladiatorial arena of near Roman proportions. The walls were smooth, high-grade steel that could withstand the strength of a fully-grown Warrior upir. Sand lined the floor. Blood was spilled by the gallon here, so the gritty substance absorbed it.

This was the belly of the beast, the heart of Castle Draculi.

A pair of upir, one absolutely huge and the other petite, were fighting viciously on the floor of the arena. Their swords were a blur of silver, of light, and they moved faster than any human was capable of. It was a disturbing beauty, one that came from blood and violence. The large upir, a man with arms like tree-trunks that towered at nearly seven feet tall, swung a heavy battle axe around his head. His bald head shone with sweat, and both nobles could see his crimson eyes glowing even from their great distance. His blows were vicious, powerful. They blew up great blasts of sand, obscuring the features of the combatants.

However, the much smaller upir - a girl with long ebony curls - evaded them effortlessly.

She moved like a serpent. Calculating and quick, precise with each strike of her blade. Her face was a mask of deadly calm, features impassive even though her opponent got angrier with each passing second. Sweat gave her cheeks an unnatural gleam, one that reflected against her black sword. A vicious, satisfied grin split Nikolai's thin lips as he watched the girl catalog each weakness, each wide swing and lazy riposte, waiting for her opportune moment to strike.

It seemed she would not have to wait very long.

With a roar, the man raised his axe overhead for a downwards chop that threatened to cleave his much smaller opponent in half. But he never got the chance. The girl struck like lightning, violet gaze blazing. Flesh squelching, steel grinding against bone, the elegant sword was shoved through the man's ribs before he could finish his battle-cry. He stood there for a moment, stunned, eyes bulging. Blood welled from between his lips.

"You were boring," droned the girl. "I don't like boring things."

Contemptuous, she twisted her blade in his chest before ripping it out, taking a casual step back as the man's huge body fell with a thump at her feet. Face a mask of calm, the girl looked up to where Lady Death and her adviser stood watching. She bowed elegantly at the waist in recognition of her queen.

"Your Grace, I was not expecting your presence at today's training session," the girl called. "I apologize for the lack of showmanship - Eduardo really was a dull opponent, all bluster and no finesse."

Ioana's shark-like smile never wavered as she inclined her regal head the slightest bit. "Not to worry, little one. Could you please come up here? Nikolai and I have a job for you."

The girl - all of fourteen and with the body of a trained killer - looked up with the darkest set of violet eyes ever to grace Castle Draculi, indifferent to the corpse slowly cooling near her feet. "Of course. Anything for you, Mother."

* * *

Christmas was coming.

Winter had squalled over Bailey City the day that Liza died, and neither of the boys could get warm since. Chilled to the bone and angry at the world around them. Everything was angry and nothing was happy and they wanted nothing to do with the corporate cesspool that America described as Christmas. Not now, not ever. Because That Night happened. Because they were depressed. Because they were confused. Because Liza was fucking _gone_ and the Yuletide spirit meant shit when there was no excited blonde to knock them on their asses with a megawatt smile or perfume that smelled like candy canes.

Of course, there were a few perks to their new lives.

Eddie found that living with his mother was infinitely better than living with his Grams. Because he was always welcome to ask questions, to learn about whatever he so desired as long as that subject wasn't still raw and wounded. His room was spacious, filled with all his things and the walls plastered with endless posters to make him forget the pictures which used to hang there. Pictures of his friends, of soccer games with Melody and video game marathons with Howie and horror movie montages with Liza. Instead of memories that burned, there were quotes and faces from different media outlets staring at him.

 _"Why so serious?"_

 _Avatar: The Last Airbender_

 _"Rule Number One: You do not talk about Fight Club. Rule Number Two: You do NOT talk about Fight Club."_

 _"Winter is Coming."_

That last one always seemed to get him: Winter is Coming. So simple, but so damning. Honestly, if Eddie didn't identify with Jon Snow so fucking much, he wouldn't have bothered with _Game of Thrones_ at all. His mother would shit a brick if she found out that he streamed it illegally. Profanity and tits and gratuitous scenes of rape and murder? Nope. Not for him. Never. Of course, it was kind of nice knowing that his mother cared so much about him. That someone loved him unconditionally and wasn't looking for every fuck-up to criticize.

Adrianna Tepes was a good mother, one who loved her son, and that made the world just the slightest bit brighter.

And, despite his newfound Gifts and the fact that he was slowly becoming a permanent fixture in their household, Howie had managed to fly under the radar for the most part. After his incident with Melody after school, Adrianna had taken to coaching her "progeny" in control. They were simple exercises. Breathing, meditation, closing his too-blue eyes and counting to ten whenever anxiety and terror overtook his mind. Everything seemed to spiral around them, like snowflakes in a blizzard. Most nights ended with Eddie curled in a screaming mess under his covers, face buried in his pillow, listening to his mother as she cooed in Romanian.

Howie stayed in a nest of blankets on the floor despite the fact that Adrianna had offered to make him his own room.

He would never admit it, but Eddie was grateful for this, because the thought of being alone through the nightmares of blood and dead eyes and screaming was enough to make him want to swallow his own tongue.

Christmas was coming.

Both of the boys wanted nothing more than to sleep it all away.

* * *

Serge D'angoulême, ruler of the House of Demons and third of his name, Lord of the upir society of Normandy and Brittany.

It was a shit title to possess, frankly, because there was nothing worth living in fear every day of his godforsaken life. His father had always impressed upon him the importance of maintaining a good face. Everything else could be falling apart around him, the world crumbling around his ears, but there was no excuse for not having the grace and dignity of a Demon when facing demise. So the young Enchanter had grown up strong in the ways of politics, diplomacy. Cunning and sly to a fault in order to navigate a pit of serpents who would gladly poison him for his power.

And Serge hated every minute of it.

He hated the etiquette lessons and the language tutors, the constant admonishment from his mother over how thick his French accent was when speaking the King and Queen's native Romanian. The words were so coarse in his mouth, so _ugly_ , and he hated them. He hated how his clothing had to be immaculate and his hair flawless, how every move had to be calculated to be just right in order to produce results. How honey-sweet compliments could be veiled threats. How the courtiers, leeches they were, clamored and grovelled at his feet.

The only thing that Serge never hated about his position was Adrianna.

Because Adrianna was beautiful. And talented, headstrong to the point of near-ridiculousness, with a voice that made angels weep and a smile that could light up a ballroom.

Serge remembered the day that he met his precious queen perfectly. It was a cold day in December, close to Christmas. He had been twelve, she ten. Mother had been chastising him over his posture all evening, and his shoes had pinched something awful, and all the young Lord had wanted to do was go to bed and wait for _père Noël_ to come bring him presents. But then he caught sight of the princess. And his shoes didn't matter. And _père Noël_ was a joke. And suddenly, miraculously, he wasn't tired anymore. There was a little princess, petite and slender with over-large emerald eyes, staring up at him with an expression of such frank curiosity it made him want to weep.

"Hello," the little princess had whispered.

"Hello, your Grace," he had replied.

Her pretty face had scrunched up in an moue of distaste, and the princess in her silver gown declared, "Don't call me that. Names are much better than titles. My name's Adrianna."

And for the first time since Father had introduced him to the court on his sixth birthday, Serge grinned openly as he was wont to do. "Mine's Serge. Serge D'angoulême."

"We're going to be best friends, Serge."

"Forever, my princess. That you can be sure of."

Forever sometimes got broken between the past and infinity.

* * *

"Ahh, Serge, darling!" Ioana exclaimed. "I'm so glad I caught you before you left for America once more. There's been a slight change of plan."

The tall Frenchman stood rigid before the wrought-iron throne where his Queen sat, eyes just barely downcast in the most minuscule display of respect he could muster. Because Serge was most certainly _not_ her darling. But he was her vassal, a pet or toy for the demented psychopath currently sitting upon the throne to use and abuse as she please. He had a duty to carry out. For his family - Mother who could barely leave her bed for illness and the memory of Father, for his younger cousins that knew nothing of court because their elder cousin had taken the full burden.

He could not allow Ioana to sniff him out because that would spell doom for the House of Demons.

 _For Adrianna as well_.

"Of course, Your Grace," the handsome upir acknowledged smoothly. He kept just the barest hint of his French accent, enough to entice and distract. "What can I do for you on this beautiful day?"

A smile curved Ioana's crimson lips, nasty and cruel, and ice filed the pit of Serge's stomach as he looked upon it. He _knew_ that smile, had watched that smile as Lady Death took twisted satisfaction in Destroying those beneath her Gucci-clad heel. Swallowing thickly, the young Lord caught sight of Lord Sterling hovering just behind the throne. Immediately, his guard shot up, intensely aware that the Royal Adviser did not trust him in the slightest. Nikolai was ruthless, cold, and there would be no mercy if he caught wind of the Enchanter's rebellious thoughts.

Ioana, thankfully, seemed blissfully unaware of the turmoil in her vassal's mind. "Yes, it appears as though we will no longer require your services in the apprehension of my _darling_ sister. Lord Sterling and I have come up with an alternative plan which should yield more results than previous attempts."

The world shattered around his ears.

And Serge put on a good face.

"Might I inquire as to what this plan is, my Queen? It seems rather abrupt to simply yank me away from a project which you so ardently insisted that I take on."

Ioana tilted her head, a serpent surveying its prey before it strikes. A cold chill ran down Serge's spine, and he instinctively used his Gift to shield his thoughts from any stray Enchanters that might have been lurking in the shadows. This place, Castle Draculi, was filled with monsters. Danger. His instincts kept screaming at him to flee. Because these were predators, and though he was good with a blade, he hadn't the power to stand up to Lady Death or her loyal adviser.

"It's very simple, my sweet. Aurelia shall take Bellatrix and fetch my sister. Surely you can think of no one else qualified for this particular endeavor?"

The lazy, arrogant grin on Nikolai's lips told its own tale. Horror swelled in Serge's chest, doused him in icy water, and he could do nothing but stare in wide-eyed disbelief at his supposed Queen. Her face was a mask of vicious triumph, beautiful and terrible. Beast that appeared as Beauty to the untrained eye.

Quiet, precise steps, nearly silent in their predatory nature, broke the young Lord from his internal battle. Crimson gaze stunned, Serge turned to regard the newcomer entering the Throne Room. The teenage girl that faced him didn't say a word, face a mask of impassiveness, but she didn't have to. Ebony curls pulled back into a thick braid, body wrapped in leather, she looked like a wraith of legend.

Aurelia had definitely inherited her mother's penchant for making an entrance.

"Lady Aurelia," Serge bowed, slightly irritated that he had to bow for a petty teenager. "I was just informed that you would be replacing me in the quest to capture your aunt."

Deep violet eyes, dark like nightshade, locked onto his own and it took every ounce of Serge's self-control not to hiss in alarm. Aurelia was a Warrior, violent by nature. It made sense that her thoughts would be darker than others. But he couldn't even _feel_ the girl's thoughts, couldn't get a sense of what went on behind the blank gaze and the disturbing gaze. It was unsettling. His gift was stronger than most; it simply shouldn't have been possible for another upir to shield their thoughts.

But here was a fourteen year old girl with dark violet eyes, black hair, that could do just that.

"You were informed correctly," Aurelia drawled. "I leave tomorrow. Mother need only solidify the travel details for the Lemercier girl to meet me in Portugal. Then we'll find the half-breed and the traitor."

Rage clawed inside his eyes.

 _Shut your ignorant mouth, you little bitch. You know_ ** _nothing_** _about my Adrianna._

Aurelia didn't so much as flinch. However, the corners of her lips turned up ever so slightly, and the Enchanter wanted to shriek in frustration. He bowed once more, clicking his heels theatrically, and turned his attention to Ioana and Nikolai.

"I wish you good luck on your quest, princess. If I may be so bold as to request dismissal, I should like to return home. Mother hasn't seen me in nearly three weeks."

Ioana waved a lazy hand of dismissal, and Serge disciplined himself so he didn't sprint from the room.

 _Don't worry, darling. She won't touch you._

 _ **I'm**_ _ **done playing games.**_

* * *

"Wake up, my darling. Wake up!"

Eddie grunted in his sleep, rolling over in his thick cocoon of blankets to squint, bleary-eyed at the clock on his nightstand. Five-thirty a.m. _Five-thirty a.m._ His mother had woken him up at the ass-crack of dawn for no goddamn reason. Jesus-fuck he was too tired - too old, too cold - to put up with this shit. He just wanted to sleep. The fourteen-year-old groaned again and burrowed further into his pillows.

"Go 'way, 'm sleepin'."

"Edward Anton Matthews, wake up this instant!"

Roaring in surprise, Eddie shot bolt-upright in his bed, only to land heavily on the thick carpet as he toppled over the edge. Well, he should have hit the carpet. But he didn't. Because Howie's skinny upir ass was blocking that, which only made landing more uncomfortable. Both teenagers groaned loudly, incoherent with exhaustion, and looked up at their aggressor with wide, confused eyes.

"Jesus H. Christ, Mom! What the hell?!"

Adrianna sat cross-legged atop the duvet, laughing loudly at their expressions. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun atop her head, and her Mickey Mouse pajamas had obviously seen better days. But her eyes were bright and open, entirely too awake for it being _five-thirty in the fucking morning_. Eddie had to wonder if her Gift was being able to stay awake at obscene hours of the day or night.

Smiling, Adrianna purred, "Oh, good, you're awake. Now we can get started!"

Howie shoved Eddie over onto the floor, ignoring the larger boy's cries of protest, and frowned at his sire with sleep-filled azure eyes. "What are you talking about, Adri? It's five-thirty in the morning. The only thing I want to get started is looking at the back of my eyelids."

Huffing like a child, Adrianna leaped off the bed with all the grace of a hunting cat and crouched before the two. "I cannot believe you two have forgotten that today was Christmas."

Eddie groaned and flopped back down amongst the tangle of thick covers. "We didn't forget, Mama. We just don't care at this point."

"Well, tough luck," the red-head sing-songed. "Because we're having Christmas whether you like it or not. Now, get your lazy butts up! I made hot chocolate, and there are presents under the tree just screaming to be opened."

As Eddie allowed himself to be dragged down the staircase by his mother, who was at least a good five inches shorter than him, he couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm. She loved this, loved having hot chocolate and curling up on the couch and opening presents. It was cute in a weird sort of way, and the red-headed teenager idly thought about what Christmas would have been like during his childhood had she stayed. Would he have woken up every Christmas morning with his mother at five-thirty to drink hot chocolate? Jumped on his Dad until they all went down for presents and pancakes?

Although, he could have pondered this at a more decent time of the day.

Like at noon.

"Alright boys. First hot chocolate, then breakfast, and then we'll open presents. And I don't want to hear any complaining about what time of the day it is, understand?"

Still yawning, Eddie nodded his head as he plopped down at the knotted kitchen table, cracking his spine as he went. "Yes, ma'am. But if I'm going to be awake this early, you better have the biggest batch of hot chocolate known to man over there."

"Here, here!" Howie agreed.

The petite woman hummed to herself in amusement, only to stun both her son and his friend by producing three of the largest mugs of hot chocolate that had ever graced the planet. She wasn't joking around, Eddie realized, and he reached out to take a cup with eager fingers. For the first time in nearly a month, a nearly evil grin split his face, one that was reminiscent of his days as a prankster. Before Liza was gone and the world had gone cold.

Taking a sip of the thick chocolate concoction, Eddie nearly moaned as the taste washed over his taste-buds. "Christ, that's some good hot chocolate. Thanks, Mom."

Howie had his face buried in a mug, practically gulping the liquid down. But he eventually looked up from the foaming chocolate. His face never smiled; however, his eyes sparked like they used to, smiling without smiling.

"Yeah, thanks Mom."

They all froze. Howie's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates, made comical by the hot chocolate spread over his top lip, and his knuckles turned white with the force of his grip on the mug handle. Eddie had nearly choked on a sip of his own beverage. Adrianna simply blinked a few times in surprise. But then she relaxed, smiling gently at the young teenager who lost so much in such a short amount of time. She padded over to where he sat and leaned over to press a kiss to the top of his forehead.

"You're very welcome, _dragă_ (sweetheart)."

Howie looked ready to cry in relief, burying his face in Adrianna's stomach with a shuddering breath, and Eddie's smile returned in a heartbeat. It had taken him nearly thirteen years to find his mom again. But, in all honesty, Howie had never really had a mother in the first place. The former Mrs. Jones was a bitch who only thought about herself and her fashionable new husband, forgetting all about the son she left behind without a second thought. And it wasn't as though his mother didn't play a huge role in his not-brother's (brother?) life.

Becoming an upir was a huge deal, after all.

"Drink up boys! I made chocolate chip pancakes."

Maybe Christmas had another gift for them. . . .

* * *

The doorbell rang while they were opening presents.

Adrianna answered with a smile on her face, attention still focused on her boys as they tore open box after box. But then the smile faded to a look of wide-eyed horror as she took in the figure standing on the front porch.

He was tall, and he was handsome. And he had eyes that could melt steel, crimson eyes that had only ever looked at her kindly before the coup. And his expression was one of urgency, not smug arrogance as she was accustomed to, blood dripping from a gash in his hairline as he panted.

"Adrianna, may I come in? Please? It's a matter of life and death."

Of all the presents Father Christmas could have left on her doorstep, Serge D'angoulême had to be the least welcome.

* * *

 _ **Holy shit, that was a long one!**_

 _ **I must apologize for my extended absence everyone. School and work got the better of me, and my attention wavered from the plot of this particular story into something else. Forgive me!**_

 _ **On a brighter note, it seems as though my muse for Eddie's Life has returned full force, and it shouldn't take me five fucking months to update anymore. Or it might. College is hard, ya'll. Being a chemistry major in college is even harder. Not as hard as Ioana's lady boner after killing someone, but that's neither here nor there.**_

 _ **So, I hope you liked this chapter, and there's certainly more to come!**_

 _ **Leave a review for me in the little white box below because constructive criticism is always welcome**_

 _ **BlackRosePoetry**_


	10. Little Souls Carry Big Corpses

**Chapter Ten: Little Souls Carry Big Corpses**

"What in the FUCKING HELL are you doing here?!"

Surprisingly, it wasn't Eddie that swore.

It was Howie - soft-spoken, quiet Howie, who hadn't a violent bone in his body, who loved hot chocolate and was sat in the floor with a fluffy Spiderman blanket wrapped around his shoulders. If he wasn't so blindly furious himself, Eddie would have been startled by the abrupt change in his not-brother. Because Howie's eyes had gone cold, azure-coated steel, and rage seemed radiate off of his body in palpable waves while razor fangs peeked out from beneath pale lips.

This was no fourteen year old boy.

This was a fourteen year old monster, enraged and deadly and _dangerous_.

Adrianna, however, was busy gaping at Serge as he leaned against the door frame. Because even though she _loathed_ what Serge had become, _hated_ what that he had tried to take her boy - no her BOYS, the only people in the world she had done right by - and _despised_ the fact that he had sided with Ioana, she couldn't help but feel slightly worried over the state he was in. Blood coated the left side of his face and sealed his eye shut, sticky and congealed. There were bruises peeking out from the collar of his shirt, and he clutched at his ribs as though they were troubling him. He was favoring his left leg. And that red gaze, the one that she had loved so much for so long, was so full of terrified anguish that Adrianna thought her throat might close looking at them.

Serge D'angoulême was many things, and he could lie very well.

But he had never been able to lie to her, not really, because she could suss out every falsehood that his lips spouted.

"GET THE FUCK OUT OF OUR HOUSE YOU MURDERER!" Eddie roared. "I SHOULD SLIT YOUR GODDAMN THROAT!"

With a single crimson eye fixated on the two teenagers, Serge let out a low hiss of warning. "I would be careful with who you threaten, boy. You might just make enemies you do not wish to have."

Howie snarled incoherently, muscles rippling under his lily-white skin, and he leapt to his feet in a blur of motion. For a moment, one blissful horrifying moment, Eddie thought that his brother (might as well call him that because that was what they were) might actually kill the son of a bitch where he stood. The air around them seemed to warp and bend. Howie's Gift was starting to run wild. Serge Le Bastard actually looked a bit surprised at how strong the fledgling upir was. But then his cracked lips turned up in a sneer.

"Is that the best you can do, little one? That's not going to work on me. You should know this by now."

With a screech that made Eddie want to cover his ears and hide, Howie shot forward with every intention of killing the smug upir noble. He never got the chance, though. Adrianna stopped him with one delicate hand on his chest, emerald eyes blazing, and she hissed at the blonde boy so violently that every hair on the back of Eddie's neck stood on end. Stunned, Howie stopped his onslaught and stared at the short red-head.

"Howard Benjamin Jones, if you ever do something so stupid and reckless again, I will be forced to beat you senseless," Adri growled. "And I don't care how old you are, if I catch you swearing one more time, I'll take you over my knee. Is that completely understood?"

Howie shook in equal parts anger and terrified shock. But then he dropped his gaze, body sagging some enormous weight, and whispered, "Yes ma'am. I'm sorry."

It took everything in Eddie not to cower as his mother's furious gaze moved to him. He actually did cower when she hissed in his direction; goddammit, she may have been tiny but the woman was fucking _scary_ when she got mad like that.

"Edward, I want you to take Howie and go upstairs while I speak with Serge." Eddie opened his mouth, brow creasing. "DO NOT argue with me, young man, or so help me God I will spank you two ways from Sunday! Upstairs now!"

At that last part, both teenagers blanched, but they lingered for a short moment in the room. Two sets of furious eyes bore into Serge, and before they left, he was met with a threat that - had he not been so used to being around Ioana and Aurelia - would have sent a chill down his spine. It wasn't spoken, though. He could hear it in his head, Gift tingling at the intrusion and Mind reeling at the thought of this _fledgling_ having enough power to best his mental barriers.

 _Hurt her, and I swear on Heaven and Hell that there will be no place on Earth for you to run. We'll find you, and we'll **tear you apart**._

Serge watched impassively as the pajama-clad teenagers trudged solemnly up the heavy staircase. No doubt they were going to wait on the top landing and listen to the conversation; however, the French upir couldn't find it in him to care at that moment. Sighing, he looked back down at Adrianna, smiling gently to himself as he took in her appearance. In her faded pajamas, bare-foot and hair pulled up in a knot atop her head, it was nearly impossible to take the threatening look in her emerald eyes seriously. But he did, because there was no screwing with Adri once you got her riled up. Gods, he hadn't seen her so relaxed since . . . .

 _(Since that Christmas before you fucked everything up, you idiot. . . . )_

"Why have you come here, Serge?" Adrianna growled. "I told you once that if you so much as looked at my son again, I'd tear out your throat. And that was not a threat to take lightly."

His chest ached.

"May I come in?" Serge asked quietly. "It would not do well to have someone spot me standing on your front porch. Ioana has eyes everywhere, and this is an urgent matter. I promise to leave as soon as I have said my piece."

For a long moment, the tiny woman scrutinized him. Then she wordlessly gestured for him to enter. Her knuckles were white on the dark wood of her front door. Serge bowed his head in customary deference before entering the estate. He was limping - torn knee, one that would hurt for another good hour - but managed to make it look both dignified and graceful. However, the dark-haired aristocrat sank into the battered leather couch with a thankful groan. Adrianna remained standing, arms crossed in a familiar defense mechanism, and Serge nearly let himself become overcome by nostalgic regret.

"You do not have to stand, _cherie_ ," he whispered. "I would never harm you."

Adrianna let out the most undignified snort Serge thought she had ever produced. "Of course not. You're just willing to hand my son over to Ioana, who would very happily Destroy him and send me his pieces through the post. Really, Serge, I did not think you capable of such close-minded stupidity."

"Adri. . . "

"Don't you _dare_ 'Adri' me!" she snarled. "I begged you to stay with me! I cried and sobbed and pleaded for hours trying to get you to stay, to leave Ioana, but you didn't. And then, when I finally found someone else, someone who made me happy, you went and snatched it all away! _La naiba_ (dammit), Serge, hurting me is what you do!" Adrianna paused, cheeks flushed red and eyes misty. "And then you went and traumatized my sons by killing their best friend. She was a sweet girl, you moron. She didn't deserve that."

For a moment, Serge said nothing. He kept his eyes fixated on the angel atop the Christmas tree, contemplating, regretting. He took a deep breath and winced as the action jostled his healing ribs. Thick strands of inky black hair fell in his eyes as he dropped his head in supplication, unable to look at the one woman he had ever truly loved while she listed his sins.

God above, he was an asshole.

"I will not apologize for everything I have done, _ma princesse_ (my princess)," he started, voice low and desolate. "And it is not because I do not feel guilt for all my actions. I will not apologize because there is no amount of apologies that can make up for all the harm I have brought to you and your son. No matter how many times I say the words, they cannot change the past. And they cannot bring back the dead."

There was a heavy silence. Adrianna was taut, fingers shaking as she gripped her elbows, and Serge could smell blood where she was biting her lip. He wanted to crawl in a hole and rot for eternity because, damn it all, he'd hurt her again. But then he steeled his nerves. He looked the petite woman in the eye, crimson meeting verdant, and growled out, "But you need to listen to me, _mon amour_! You and your son are in very real danger here, and I cannot protect you should Bellatrix track you down again."

For a long moment, Adri said nothing. She just looked at him with that unreadable mask she had developed, the one that made his jaw clench like a bear trap. His fingers itched.

"Sons," she breathed out.

Confused, Serge frowned. "What?"

"You keep referring only to Eddie when you speak," Adrianna explained. "Howie is just as much my son as Eddie is even though I did not carry him. My _sons_ are in danger, if what you are saying is true, which I somehow doubt."

The aristocratic man narrowed his eyes at her and hissed, " _I am not lying about this!_ "

"Oh, really? Because lying is one thing you are very good at, Serge, and I would not put it past you to lie to me and lead my boys into some sort of trap just so you could regain Ioana's good favor."

The sentence was metaphysical, a blow to the chest, and Serge deflated like an old balloon. "You are right. I am a liar and a narcissist and a cheat. I have clawed my way through the ranks to keep the House of Demons above the rabble, and in doing so I have lost all pretenses of morality. But I am not. Lying. About. This. I do not lie when it comes to your safety, Adrianna. You should know this, even if everything else about me is an abomination in your eyes."

Emerald eyes scrutinized him coldly. Serge wanted to disappear into the battered cushions. Instead, he drew himself upright and returned the stare. One had to put on a brave face, a bold face, and he needed to make Adri realize the severity of her predicament. He couldn't do that cowering like a frightened child. The silence was heavy and oppressive, and both upir acutely felt just how badly this little encounter could end. It was a battle of wills, bloody vermillion versus pure viridian. Neither could afford to lose.

Then Adrianna sighed heavily, running a graceful hand down her face, and she regarded him in exhausted defeat. "Okay, so you're not lying."

Serge quirked an eyebrow. "You've finally realized that I am being truthful?"

The smirk that curved her sugar-pink lips was nothing short of wicked. "No; I used my Gift and made sure that you weren't being a deceitful cock-thistle."

A bark of laughter escaped Serge before he could contain it, followed by a low groan when his ribs protested, and he shot his former betrothed a toothy grin. "'Deceitful cock-thistle? Really, Adrianna, I did not think you had a crude bone left in your body."

"You try living with a couple of teenage boys and not picking up a few things. Some of the things they spout are downright _vulgar_. I cannot ever remember you being that way."

Serge's grin turned wolfish, and he leaned forward as the conversation flowed back into the easy lilt of the past. "Oh, I was absolutely filthy at their age. I simply did not broadcast my perversions. Can you imagine what Father would have done to me if I were to embarrass him in such a manner?"

Slowly, bit by bit, Adrianna's taut shoulders were relaxing. The arms were dropping from their defensive hug. Good, maybe she'd listen to his plan for escaping (or at least stalling) Aurelia and Bellatrix. Twinkling fairy lights, strung over her Christmas Tree, speckled his vision like stardust. It felt nice. Being so close to Adri again, having the ability to simply bask in her presence and banter like when they were children. Back then, things had been so simple. So easy.

Now everything was just so royally complicated.

But, for now, he could bask in a warm moment like Adrianna's smile.

* * *

Eddie sat cross-legged at the top of the heavy staircase with Howie by his side.

Well, more like with Howie pushing him over so that he could hear better, resulting in an awkward situation where they were smashed in an amalgamation of young teenage limbs and angry emotion.

"Dude, will you get the hell off me?" Eddie whispered. "I can't _breathe_."

The look Howie shot him was nothing less than toxic. "Quit whining and listen. We left her alone with that asshole - the least we can do is tune in and make sure she's not gonna get killed."

Begrudgingly, Eddie allowed the intrusion on his personal space, listening to the conversation with a borderline manic attention. The asshole in question sounded almost - keyword being almost - sincere as he spoke. Thankfully, his mother was verbally tearing him a new rectum, and imagining the look of angry disapproval on her face almost made up for the fact that Christmas was ruined irreparably. As he listened, the red-headed boy picked up on the fact that his mother never just referred to him. She referred to her _sons_. Sons as in plural. Including Howie.

He did have a brother, and maybe that wouldn't be so bad if there weren't bodies lurking behind their eyes and nightmares buried in their skulls.

"You and your son are in very real danger here, and I cannot protect you should Bellatrix track you down again."

A low growl was rumbling against Eddie's right arm. He smacked out with one hand, catching the muscled flesh of his brother's chest, and shushed him. "Dude, shut up or they'll hear you."

The sound abruptly cut off. But Howie was taut as a bow-string, and one could practically hear the indecision screaming in his mind. Eddie could understand. He wanted to be down there, too, beating the fuck out of the asshole who had stood by and smirked while that Bellatrix whore drained Liza's body dry. Because they could still see her eyes go dark and the red coagulate on asphalt, and as he sat there thinking on it Eddie could feel his throat go numb, his breathing speed up. He was panicking. Choking. Couldn't move, breathe, think.

Too much.

Too young.

Too fast.

And, dammit, it was all that bastard's fault.

"Sons." The whisper was almost indistinguishable from their position; however, both teenagers heard it echo up the shadowed staircase.

Howie froze in place, shaking, and Eddie smiled just a little.

"What?" The word was questioning, confused.

"You keep referring only to Eddie when you speak. Howie is just as much my son as Eddie is even though I did not carry him. My _sons_ are in danger, if what you are saying is true, which I somehow doubt." His - _their_ \- mother's voice was confident and slightly condescending, and Howie kept trembling like a leaf.

Eddie reached over and clasped his brother's hand tightly as they listened to the conversation. It made no sense, not really, because one minute Adrianna was tearing the aristocratic murderer apart with her words, and the next found her listening to his half-baked apologies that didn't really matter. He killed Liza, slayed her, and it was his fault that the crazy dreadlock-wearing bitch had drank her blood. Why wasn't she angry? Why wasn't this asshole dead? Did she _trust_ him? Because, if that was the case, Eddie was going to have to re-think his position on his mother's sanity. Of course, she didn't have the best track record with decisions.

He loved her dearly, but facts were facts.

Sighing, Eddie looked over. "Dude, why the hell are our lives so complicated?"

Howie was silent for a long time. Tears were running over his cheeks, his blue eyes rimmed in red, and his fingers were a white-knuckled clutch that ached painfully. But then he turned and whispered, "Because your mother has terrible taste in men. And her sister is fucking crazy."

A low wheezing chuckle, void of all humor, escaped Eddie's cracked lips. He managed to get Howie to let go of his hand long enough so he could clap the blonde boy on the shoulder. "And how, dude! Don't let Mom hear you, though, because I'm pretty sure she'll make good on those threats. And we don't want her angry at us anytime soon."

Both boys shuddered at the thought of a furious Adrianna Tepes, though they continued to lay on their bellies to eavesdrop.

"You've finally realized that I'm not lying?"

Eddie nearly snorted at the bastard's nearly-condescending tone of voice. But he managed to keep quiet long enough to hear his mother's snarky response.

"No; I used my Gift and made sure that you weren't being a deceitful cock-thistle."

That was it. Both teenage boys looked at each other, wide-eyed, before falling into a fit of helpless giggles against the creaking wooden banister. They choked and sputtered, guffaws catching in their throats and tears of mirth running down their cheeks. Of all the things Adri could have spouted, all the jokes about his heritage or his hair or the fact that he was a weird-ass murderer that would never get within ten miles of being her bae again, she chose to call him a deceitful _cock-thistle_. It was beautiful. Somehow, they managed to calm themselves down long enough to catch on to the fact that their names were being called.

"Howie! Eddie! Boys, I know you're up there listening. Get down here so we can talk!"

Eddie glanced over at Howie, who stared back at him for a long moment. The sheer amusement that still shone in his brother's frozen ice eyes made the red-headed boy feel better than he had in nearly two months. Oh, sure, the sadness was still there. It would probably never go away, and Christmas would never be the same since That Night. But things weren't as bad as he thought they were.

Maybe, just maybe, they would be okay.

* * *

Adrianna knew the boys were listening the entire time, but she didn't want to punish them, not really.

They deserved to hear a few answers. That, and she was sure that they were trying to protect her in the naive, borderline-innocent line of thinking many young teenagers possessed. She eyed Serge cautiously as she heard footsteps thumping down the heavy staircase. He was still bleeding, slowly, and he still couldn't open that left eye. Honestly, she nearly felt sorry for her former betrothed. If his natural healing processes hadn't already taken care of the damage, it had to have been one hell of a beating. Sighing, Adrianna looked back towards her sons, who had made it to the bottom of the stairs.

Eddie scowled when he caught sight of Serge, and she didn't think that she would ever see Howie look as murderous as he did in that moment.

"Mom, are you okay?" Eddie asked quietly. He didn't take his eyes off of Serge.

"Yes, _copil_ , I am perfectly fine," Adri responded, smiling. "Would you do me a favor? Go into the kitchen and bring me back a wet dishcloth for me, please."

Her son looked skeptical, but he didn't question her. Dark eyes still latched on to the back of Serge's head, he paced slowly into the kitchen. Howie hadn't moved from his spot, seemingly rooted in place, and his glare was acidic. Another sigh escaped the petite woman's pale lips. She quietly walked over to the blonde upir, placing a hand on his thin shoulder. He was steel-taut, and he didn't break his stare for a second to look at her. She had heard him laugh earlier - that was part of the reason she had been so crude - but that light feeling of normalcy was long gone.

Howard Jones was icy and cold, angry, and scarred beyond recognition.

It would take time for the wounds to pearl over.

"Howie, _dragă_ (sweetheart), you need to relax," she whispered. "He will not hurt us, not while I am here."

For the first time since he had come down, Howie looked her dead in the eye. The stare was bone-chilling, and Adri felt her breath catch in her throat as her boy - for he was _her_ boy, not Richard Jones's, not anyone else's - bore deep into her soul. She knew he would never hurt her. And she knew that her own Gift was stronger than his own, for now at least. But that didn't stop her stomach from clenching as the unadulterated fury, the sheer hatred, in his eyes.

"I'll relax when he's dead," Howie whispered. "And there's no way on Earth I'm ever leaving you alone with him again."

Adrianna opened her mouth to speak; however, Eddie beat her to the punch when he strolled into the living room. The red-headed boy waltzed past Serge with a venomous stare and tossed the sopping rag at his face crudely. It slapped the older man right in forehead. Serge winced, but he held his tongue. Instead, he used the cold material to remove the congealed blood from his face with a quiet groan. Eddie moved to stand by them and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"So, who do I need to send flowers for beating the crap out of you?" he sneered. "They do impressive work."

Gently, the petite woman slapped her son in the abdomen. Serge, however, responded by settling a heavy glare on him, red eyes gleaming dangerously. The air seemed to crackle. He was beginning to lose his temper. But, as he turned to look at them, Adri couldn't help but gasp in shock at the true extent of the damage to the aristocratic man's face. His eye was bloodshot, vessels broken within the white, and huge gashes were carved into the flesh over his eyebrow. Bruises dotted the pale flesh, black and purple, and a few were beginning to turn that sickly green-yellow color that indicated healing.

In short, he looked terrifyingly human, and Adrianna felt her stomach drop in horror.

"You should learn to curb your tongue, _petit garçon_ (little boy). You've got a bad habit of making comments on subjects you know nothing about." Serge's voice was hard, French lilt somehow more threatening.

Adri felt her face go white.

"Serge, why did you come here?" she whispered. "You never told me who did this."

The tall Frenchman sighed heavily, and it seemed he was attempting to melt into the battered sofa. "It's a rather long story, _cher_. You three might want to sit down to listen. Not for very long, mind you - we all need to get out of this town as soon as possible. Once Bellatrix gets a scent in her nose, there's really no stopping her."

For some reason, even though every bone in their bodies were telling them that this was **wrong** and that the man bleeding on the couch - surrounded by their Christmas presents, one might add - was a goddamn lying **bastard** , neither teenager could shake the feeling that he wasn't lying. And that the person who did this to him was far more dangerous than he had been on That Night.

Eddie scowled.

That didn't mean he had to like the bastard.

* * *

Aurelia kept her face a blank mask while Bellatrix sucked greedily on the little boy's corpse. He couldn't have been much older than seven, eight at the oldest. But blood was blood. And he was just a human.

It wasn't like his life mattered.

( _except it does. it does to you. and you're never going to forgive yourself._

 ** _keep it under wraps. mother will have your head._** )

Bellatrix Lemercier was a foul, odious creature, and the Crown Princess of the upir found her presence detestable. But she was also the most capable Tracker alive. The girl had turned sniffing out a particular Aura into a near art-form, and it was rather impressive to watch the lanky British woman as she fell into her element. At the same time, Tracking had that nasty side-effect of making an upir ravenous.

This was the third time Bellatrix had to hunt in the past week.

Aurelia hadn't eaten in nearly two months, and she was only just starting to get the faintest pangs of hunger.

"Would you like to hunt yourself, Your Grace?" Bellatrix's raspy, upper-crust accent broke through Aurelia's inner musings.

The ebony-haired princess looked down her nose at her subordinate, violet eyes cold, thoughts shielded just in case someone was watching. Her lips twisted in a sneer as she watched the older woman practically squirm atop the child's body. Blood dripped onto Trix's worn leather jacket, staining the front of her neck and chin. And her eyes were wild, feral. Not to mention the smell those awful dreadlocks gave off.

No - Aurelia would much rather be with Lord Serge than with Bellatrix.

But, seeing as how she'd had to practically beat the man into submission just so she could make her way out of France, that didn't seem like a viable option.

"Of course not, you wild animal," Aurelia growled quietly. "I'll be perfectly content without a meal for the next couple of weeks. Come; we need to get moving. Our flight out of Lisbon leaves in less than two hours. I'll not be delayed because of your dietary needs."

Bellatrix cowered out of the way, and the fourteen year old Warrior allowed her sneer of disdain to burrow deeper into her face. Useless sniveling coward. . . . perfectly capable of killing a little boy, but not able to stand strong before a teenager. How pathetic.

It didn't take long for Bellatrix to regain her sense of insane amusement. She ran off - well, it was more like skipping - into the darkness of the village that they had stopped in. Bright violet eyes tracked each twitchy movement with cool, logical detachment honed from years of battle-training. Aurelia adjusted the hem of her fine linen shirt with deliberate, fussy neatness. She then looked down at the little boy.

He'd died with a look of terror in his eyes.

He'd died begging for someone, anyone to help him.

He'd died crying for his mother.

And she, all of fourteen years old, had merely stood by and watched as his throat was torn out. Had she been born of a different constitution, or even of a different family line, Aurelia would have been screaming right along with him. But she was the scion of the House of Tepes. She was the daughter of Queen Ioana, Lady Death, first of her name and keeper of Castle Draculi, Warrior by nature and trained to kill.

The death of one little Spanish boy with pretty brown eyes was inconsequential.

Aurelia sprinted off into the night, following behind Bellatrix.

( _except he wasn't inconsequential. he was a child. he may have been human, but he was a child, and his death was senselessly cruel._

 ** _why can't i just scream?_** )

* * *

The next morning, a mother woke up to a cold spot in the bed beside her, the spot where her son usually slept.

She stepped outside and tripped on his body.

All of Albarracin heard her shriek.

* * *

Aurelia heard someone scream as she boarded the plane in Lisbon.

She pretended it didn't send a shiver down her spine.

* * *

 **A/N: Hello all of my lovely readers!**

 **Long time no see, eh? Well, I finally found time to pen this next chapter, and then I realized that the entire thing was shit and I had to re-write the entire goddamn thing. It was a giant pain in the ass. But I managed it in between Organic Chemistry and binge-watching every John Wayne movie ever. And I'm still not quite as happy about it as I could be. However, I have hinted more at Adri's own gift in this, and I started working on Aurelia's character a little bit more. She's still hazy in some aspects, and this is only a little glimpse into her, but I really think I'm going to enjoy writing her personality as I go along.**

 **Oh!**

 **"Fill your hand, you son of a bitch!" may or may not make it into this story at some point or another, along with gratuitous cameos by characters inspired by both the Duke and his on-screen bae Maureen O'Hara. Because reasons.**

 **Well, I hope this chapter is to your liking.**

 **Constructive criticism is always helpful, so leave me a comment in the little white box of horror below!**

 **Yours Truly,  
BlackRosePoetry**


	11. And We Shall Crawl on Bellies Like Beast

**Chapter Eleven: And We Shall Crawl on Bellies Like Beasts**

 _"Your Grace? Mother, you summoned me?"_

 _Aurelia does not look her mother in the eyes. No one does – it is audacious and dangerous to consider oneself equal to Lady Death. Instead she stares at the stone floor and tries to ignore the whispers crawling up her spine and seeping into her ears like pus. There's something wrong with Castle Draculi, very wrong. And she knows it._

 _Walls aren't supposed to talk to you._

 _Mother hasn't spoken yet and the whispers are pressing in like a vice. Crushing her head. Making her hurt. They're loud. And it would be different if the whispers were white-noise, like at court, droning that she can tune out. But it isn't, because she can pick out individual voices, hear what they are saying, and they're so very angry. The magick of Castle Draculi is old, very old, and the contract was made in blood, carried by the winds to the mountains to accept. And so the price of that contract was blood in return, upir and human and it didn't matter because there would never be enough to pay the debt and the Castle is_ angry.

 _Aurelia has never been this afraid in her life._

 _Wait, no, that isn't quite true. She's been more scared only once previous. She was four years old and exhausted, head lolling against her Papa's shoulder while she clung to him like a lifeline, and Mother just kept_ _ **screaming**_ _. Like a banshee or a demon and all she wanted to do was cry. So she did. Aurelia cried and cried and cried, eyes swollen and body shaking. Papa was talking in that nice soothing way of his, trying to keep Mother from yelling any louder, from doing anything drastic. And then he started shaking, shuddering, sputtering, and Little Aurelia just couldn't_ _ **stop screaming**_ _. Because her Papa was bleeding from his eyes and nose, crimson on his lips, and it kept dripping into her hair, onto her face, and . . . ._

 _"Momma, what are you doing?!"_

 _Mother had laughed, then sneered, and said that little beasts who sniveled and cried didn't deserve to have a Papa. And Aurelia didn't like that gleam in her eyes, or how the whispers that she pretended not to hear got louder and less angry, crooning lots of things to Momma that didn't make sense but sounded a little bit like her nanny when she gave praise. It was very very wrong and cold. So cold. Momma was a cold woman when she wasn't making people bleed. The look in Momma's eyes makes her scared._

 _So Aurelia has learned the real meaning of fear and she keeps it close to her heart so that she doesn't end up like Papa. . . ._

 _"You've failed me, little one," and the so-called term of endearment sounds like a curse falling from Her Majesty's lips._

 _Terror freezes her bones. She can't move. Or maybe it_ _ **isn't**_ _just terror because she's trying to move, to run, to just get away but her muscles won't cooperate. Mother has a grip on her limbs and it's like steel, like diamond. It burns. And it aches. And as Mother tightens her hold, pulls the ligaments and warps the bones, Aurelia feels the tears well up._

 _God, when did she become so weak? So afraid?_

 _She didn't ask to be this!_

 _"You've_ _ **failed me**_ _, little girl."_

 _It's a purr, a croon, a predator toying with its food, and Aurelia somehow finds the willpower to look at her mother. She regrets the decision almost immediately._

 _Because Ioana Tepes, Lady Death, reigns the upir kingdom with steel smirks and a glass shard violet gaze. She is winter cruel and inferno crazy, sparks over skin and silver daggers. She is broken bones and shattered mirrors. God, her mother is crazy. Insane in the membrane. Oh, shit, can Mother hear her thoughts because there's something clamping down and it hurts more and. . . ._

 _She can't move._

 _She can't **move**. _

_Oh GOD she can't fucking. MOVE!_

 _And it hurts. It hurts it hurts it hurts why are you hurting me, Mommy, why are you doing this I can't take this anymore there's too much too much please STOP! She's panicking. Aurelia knows, deep down in place that she can't really access right now, that panicking is absolutely fucking useless. But she can't help it. There's too much pain. Too much. It hurts. It hurts._

 _Her arms have left her body and she's screaming._

 _Screaming._

 _DYING._

 _Oh, God, she never wanted to be this._

 _Mother laughs as the world falls to black and says, "You're a failure, little one. Now you may die like one."_

 _No. Please. Mother don't leave. She can't speak, can't think, can't breathe._

 _She didn't want to be this. . . . !_

* * *

"My Lady! My Lady, wake up! We're here."

Aurelia snapped awake in an instant, snarling quietly as she snatched Bellatrix's wrist out of the air and _squeezed_. The disgusting British woman nearly shrieked, whimpering as her wrist was crushed in her young mistress's iron grip. Violet eyes glared up at her dangerously. Violently. There weren't many moments that Aurelia Tepes lost control - that had been the first hard-won lesson she'd learned over her short lifetime, never lose your senses - but when she did, the change in her demeanor was downright frightening.

She became bestial and wild, a Warrior through to the core, and there were very few upir who could stand up to her wrath.

"What have I told you about waking me up in such a manner?" Aurelia hissed. "It is disrespectful and rude, and I will not tolerate such behavior, not even from someone as Gifted as you. So I suggest, _Bellatrix_ , that you refrain from taking such a course of action in the future. Is that completely understood?"

Bellatrix nodded quickly, dreadlocks swaying and crimson eyes wide. "Yes, My Lady! Of course, my Lady! Anything you ask."

Disgusted by her gutless companion, Aurelia released the offending limb from her grasp. There were bruises forming around the delicate wrist, varying shades of black and purple, but they didn't really matter. After composing herself, the princess looked about the cabin for a clue as to what her vassal had been prattling on about in the first place. People were staring awkwardly at them, frozen in motion whilst they collected their carry-on luggage from the cargo hold above the seats. However, one glance at the young teenager's violet gaze quickly set them moving again.

Aurelia scowled, in a particularly bad humor after the . . . dream that she had.

"Get our things, Bellatrix," she snapped. "We need to move if we're to make it to Bailey City before tomorrow."

The psychotic Tracker giggled quietly at the thought of going on a mission. She yanked down the heavy bags with unnatural ease, shocked eyes tracking her movements, and she followed the smaller girl out onto the gang-walk, practically buzzing with excitement. Aurelia rolled her shoulders, stiff, uncomfortable with this many bodies crowded in around her and no means of protection. Of course, they had connections to procure weapons - a pair of swords and perhaps a few throwing knives - within the United States. But for now she had to rely on her own strength and hand-to-hand combat skills.

She felt practically naked without Sinister and Night's Fall on her hips.

( _mostly because there's no end to Mother's wrath and what should happen if you disappoint and she finds you?_ )

( _ **shut up and just follow orders because we won't disappoint and nothing will happen if you just. fucking. obey!**_ )

Aurelia let out a quiet snarl that sent a few grown businessmen scurry off into the depths of the O'Hare International Airport, and then proceeded to wrinkle her nose at the smell permeating the large enclosed space. So many bodies! Human beings, while being rather delicious to eat when one was famished, smelled absolutely atrocious in large groups. It was body odor and smog that clung to clothing, stale menthol cigarettes and greasy fast-food. And then over that you got the heavy smells of over-priced perfumes and cologne mixing in with cheap body wash and deodorant. Not to mention _shampoo_. God above, shampoo seemed to shatter through her nose like a nuclear missile. Honestly, it was all the fourteen year old princess could do to keep from vomiting in the middle of the terminal.

"Disgusting," she muttered to herself. "Absolutely disgusting."

The dark-haired girl moved through the swarm of human bodies with ease despite her discomfort. Moving through the annual court-gatherings had allowed her some knowledge about how to navigate a large crowd. Not to mention the humans, pitifully ill-equipped in the senses department though they were, possessed enough survival instinct to give her a wide berth. Aurelia was not one who simply blended in. She was impeccably dressed, Gucci leather pumps on her delicate feet and a Prada bag dangling from her fingertips, Ray Bans having been perched on the bridge of her nose to mask her violet eyes. Her outfit was in all crimson, stark against her white skin and ebony curls. She looked to be a very young sort of model,

The kind of model that had drugged-out, leather-clad groupies to carry their luggage and make all sorts of odd hungry noises towards people that got too close.

Yeah, not weird at all.

* * *

Somehow, by some miracle that neither of them really deserved, they managed to make it through security without Bellatrix setting off fifty billion red-flags and getting them detained. Or eating some poor bastard.

That last one was only because Aurelia had physically dragged her away from a rather portly customs officer who had just received a rather nasty paper-cut on his index finger. He smelled an awful lot like bacon cheeseburgers, which the princess had to agree was absolutely divine after wading through the hordes of sweaty humans with no bleeding wounds. But they were on a mission.

( _and you still can't get the look on little Mateo's face out of your head, can you little girl? wanted to save him?_ )

( _ **shut the hell up I'm trying to make this dumb broad work without getting us caught and having to massacre people**_ )

Sometimes, Aurelia wished that she didn't have a conscience to hide. Because masking it and trying to seem cold while actually protecting someone - without making it look overtly like you're protecting them - was a pain in the ass.

Exhausted from her nightmare-infused plane trip and trying to keep Bellatrix on a tight leash, as well as dealing with the onset of what was sure to be a fantastical migraine, Aurelia glared and snarled at anyone who so much as dared to look at her cross-eyed. She glided through the crowds like a wraith, a demon with dreadlocks following in her wake. They had almost _almost_ made it outside, where there was sure to be a car waiting to drive them to their weapons-contact, when the fourteen year old felt the Tracker veer off towards a, surprisingly, empty part of the airport.

She took a deep breath through her nose and counted to ten.

Mother would be very upset if she had to send a new Tracker - one who would not be nearly as good - because the "little princess" had lost her temper.

Delicate shoulders taut under her expensive crimson blouse, Aurelia followed her errant servant across the expansive floor and towards what sounded almost like. . .

Aurelia tensed again, hissing, and took off at a sprint. She could smell tears. Hear whimpers. And the scent of Bellatrix - a mixture of marijuana and cigarettes and distressed leather - lead her exactly to where she needed to be. There was a tiny girl in a yellow sun-dress huddled in the corner of an abandoned bathroom, a girl with thick blonde curls and bright blue eyes, so full of tears and terror it was probably impossible for the poor thing to see. She looked to be about five, maybe six. And there stood Bellatrix, blood-thirsty and ravaged and in possession of a madness that was far too familiar for Aurelia's tastes.

She was ready to strike.

Children were her favorite, especially the little ones.

"H-h-help me pwease!"

Bellatrix lunged.

It moved in slow motion. The child was crying. Bellatrix was moving, darting, fangs dripping saliva and crimson in her eyes. Aurelia tensed. Darted. Moved between the upir and the human with an enraged snarl that didn't sound right coming from such a petite young girl. Everything moved like molasses. Until it didn't. Time began to run normally when Bellatrix found herself slammed into a tiled-wall, cracking it, a viciously snarling princess in her face and one delicate hand clenching her windpipe.

The Tracker gasped. Clawed. Struggled.

Nothing.

Aurelia was the Black Knight, her mother's well-groomed heir, and she would not budge.

"What in the _thrice-damned hell_ do you think you're doing?!"

Bellatrix was turning blue, gasping like a fish, so Aurelia relaxed her hold on the older woman's throat by the slightest margin. Just enough so she could speak. The woman cowered away as per the usual. It was always such an odd juxtaposition, that simpering coward's submission on such an aristocratic, piercing filled face. But, in that moment, the princess was far too angry to appreciate the subtle ironies of her life. All she could see were the tears, the fear, the big blue eyes that kept pleading with her to _save me_!

"My Lady, forgive me! I was so very hungry, and I heard this human crying in this part of the building all alone so I thought, if I were really careful, I could sneak a quick meal and we'd be on our way! No one'll see me! I promise! And it's obvious the little brat won't fight back! Please, my Lady, I'm so so so hungry! Please!"

"Be silent you snivelling little _căţea_ (bitch)!" Aurelia snarled. "Your incompetence and complete incapability of controlling your actions are going to get us captured! Get the fuck out to the car and don't move from the back seat until I have finished my business in this. . . .place."

Bellatrix gulped as much as the strangle-hold on her neck would allow. "Yes, my Lady, of course. I'll go right now."

Breathing heavily, limbs shaking from the effort it took not to take the idiot Brit's head off, Aurelia tossed her violently out the bathroom door with an odd, strangled noise of disapproval. Trix scrambled away, no doubt terrified and more than willing to listen to orders now that she had been suitably whipped into submission. Christ, would she be surrounded by blithering, incompetent nitwits her entire fucking existence? Jaw clenched like a bear-trap and fingers visibly shaking, Aurelia turned to look at the little human girl still trembling in the corner.

She was still crying. But at least she had covered her eyes, dimples on chubby hands shielding those haunting blue orbs from view. And preventing the child from figuring out what exactly they were, but that was neither here nor there. Aurelia stood there for a long moment, not knowing exactly what to do.

( _go ask her what's wrong help her find her parents something except standing there like a gaping nit-wit_ )

( ** _you're not helping dammit_** )

Another deep breath. Fingers clenched. She was a knight, a soldier, meant to keep on marching on with her head down until the work was done. She could handle a tiny human child. Removing the Ray Bans from her eyes, the teenager knelt in front of the traumatized girl and managed not to wrinkle her nose at the thought that she was resting on something so unsavory as a lavatory floor. Because blood and dirt was an entirely different animal compared to urine and feces. It was why she didn't visit the dungeons nearly as often as Mother thought she should.

( _liar._ )

( ** _fuck off_** )

"Are you quite alright, little one?" she crooned. English tasted awkward in her mouth, always had, but this little girl was obviously not accustomed to speaking any other language so it would have to do.

The child started. Those big blue eyes appeared from behind her chubby hands, shock-stricken and terrified and oddly curious. Aurelia had never really been around children, but there was something rather endearing about the expression so she allowed just the barest hint of a smile to curve her lips. It seemed to work. The little girl seemed to relax just the slightest, staring at her with caution rather than terror. It was a start.

" 'm alright," the girl whispered. She _was_ little, her speech still impeded by baby teeth and a growing brain. "T'anks for sabin' me, pretty lady."

Aurelia tilted her head, on high-alert for any upir that might be in the area, and whispered, "You're welcome, little one. Do you need help? Are you lost?"

The tears welled up again. Oh, shit, she wasn't ready for this! Not crying, no crying, please goddammit! Panicking more than a little - though it was a very quiet, composed panic - the princess leaned forward and placed a hand atop the girl's bright blonde curls. They were soft to the touch, and it seemed to work wonders because the small child managed to keep herself from sobbing incoherently.

Point one for Aurelia.

"I c-can' f-f-find my M-m-o-ommy!" the child gasped.

"Alright," the princess crooned. "We shall go and find your mother. Come on."

Graceful and elegant, the older girl rose from her crouch and extended a delicate hand towards the still-sniffling child at her feet. The little girl grasped it, pulse fluttering against her palm, and they walked out of the silent room together. Violet eyes scanned the massive airport for any sign of a security guard or policeman. The place had been positively _crawling_ earlier, so there was bound to be some form of authority that she could leave the little girl with. Eventually, her keen gaze locked onto a group of men in security uniforms, badges glinting, and she gently tugged the child along.

"What's your name?"

The question was sudden and unexpected, but Aurelia was surprisingly unfazed. "My name is Aurelia Tepes. What is yours?"

"My name's Chloe. Mommy likes ta call me Doodlebug, 'cause she's weird like t'at. You gots a pretty name. It sounds like sunshine!"

Aurelia could't help but chuckle at the statement, and she replied, "It means 'golden' so you're somewhat correct, little one."

Little Chloe's face scrunched up a tad. She squeezed the princess's hand just a tad bit tighter, blue eyes sparkling. "How come you talk so funny?"

"How do you know that I speak oddly?" Aurelia questioned solemnly, just barely keeping from laughing at the frank child. "Perhaps it is you who doesn't speak like everyone else. Have you considered that?"

The child sighed heavily. "Now my brain hurts!" she exclaimed.

Again, Aurelia chuckled, slowing to a stop just before they reached the security guards. She knelt down before the little girl and straightened out her crumpled sun dress, smoothed down her flyaway curls. Chloe wrinkled her button nose at the primping. But she didn't fight it, obviously accustomed to someone making her look presentable in such a manner. Instead, she watched the ebony-haired girl curiously. There was something in the expression that relaxed the princess's normally tense shoulders, and she focused on the task of making the child look like she _hadn't_ been accosted by a psychotic upir in an abandoned toilet-room. Eventually, she deemed her work satisfactory.

"There, all done."

"You still haben't answered me," Chloe pointed out quietly. "How come you talk like that?"

Aurelia tilted her head to the side. "I am from a country called Romania, and I did not learn to speak English right away. Because of this, my words sound a little bit different than yours. Does that make sense, little one?"

Apparently, it did, because the little girl nodded, smiling brightly. It made Aurelia's throat constrict, but she managed to smile right back.

( _wow, three whole smiles in one day that's got to be a record_ )

( ** _i repeat; fuck off_** )

"Now, I want you to listen to me very carefully, Chloe. Can you do that for me?" When she received a solemn nod, the princess continued. "You are going to walk up to those nice men in uniforms over there - the ones with the shiny badges - and you are going to tell them that you cannot find your mother. They will take you to find her. Can you be brave and do that for me?"

Chloe bit her lip, eyes shining, and for a split second Aurelia feared that the waterworks would begin anew. But they didn't, thankfully. Rather, the chubby, blonde-haired tot lurched forward and wrapped her arms around the upir's neck, heedless of the danger her actions were putting her in. The princess stiffened like a corpse. She didn't know how to handle _this_! Blood and gore she could handle. Insults? Treason? No problem! But physical affection? That was something Mother had deemed illogical and unnecessary and it just did not happen in Castle Draculi. Eventually, she managed to lift her arms and place them around the tiny body pressed against her own. The heartbeat thrumming under her palms was small, energetic, erratic. But not afraid.

It kind of felt. . . . nice.

"I've neber had a big sister a'fore," Chloe whispered. "But I t'ink t'at you'd be real good at it. T'ank you for sabin' me."

Aurelia choked on the lump in her throat. She squeezed just a little bit, inhaling the scent of strawberry shampoo and Gummi Bears that clung to the tot. "You're very welcome."

She let go of the girl and gently pushed her forward. "Now, you need to go. I'm sure your Mommy is very worried about you."

One more bright smile. Then Chloe was gone, racing towards the security officers with her yellow sun dress fluttering and sandals slapping on the tile.

( _we weren't ever like that were we?_ )

( ** _no. we weren't_** )

* * *

When Chloe Sanchez was returned to her sobbing mother, she proceeded to ramble on about a pretty lady - a big sister - who saved her from a crazy red-eyed lady in the bathroom, and that she needed to have a little brother or sister right away so she could be just like "Big Sister Auwelia."

Her mother was very confused.

And Chloe was very sad, because when they tried to find someone of that name in the airport, nothing remained but hordes of sweaty humans. No pretty ladies with purple eyes and a red outfit and a weird way of saying stuff.

Maybe it had all been a dream. . . .

But maybe it hadn't.

Because Chloe could still smell Aurelia on her sundress from when she hugged her, vanilla and sugar.

* * *

"Remind me again _why_ we are listening to Lord Frick-face?" Eddie snarled. "Because this seems extreme to me. And I don't like him."

Adrianna rarely lost her temper. In fact, she could probably still count the number of times she had on both hands. But Eddie and his attitude - no matter how endearing it could be - was beginning to approach the Danger Zone threshold. So she took a deep breath, pausing in the middle of folding her son's hooded sweatshirt, and fixed him with a lethal glare.

"We are listening because that is what we need to do to _stay alive_ , Edward," the petite red-head nearly growled. "Now stop complaining and do as you are told. We do not have much time before Serge returns with the cab."

For what it was worth, Eddie looked suitably chastised despite the scowl that he still wore. He finished stuffing his old football cleats into his gym bag along with several other pairs of shoes and articles of clothing. They were going to have to leave his other things behind, posters and even his comic book collection. That last one broke his heart and pissed him off in equal measures. But his mom was insistent; they had to travel lightly because they were going to move a lot.

Damn upir bastards.

"Where'd Howie go, anyways?" Eddie huffed impatiently. "You've hovered over me for the past two hours and I haven't seen him since Lord Over-bite left. Doesn't he have to pack?"

"Really, Eddie, 'Lord Over-bite?'" Adrianna teased. "I thought you more creative than that."

The tall boy groaned heartily and tossed the pillow he was trying to pack at the back of her head. "C'mon, Mom, you won't even let me swear! How am I supposed to insult him if I can't use bad language?"

"Think creatively, darling. It should be nice to use your brain for a change."

Eddie pouted for a moment - his mom was a savage when she wanted to be - but then realized that she had just effectively deflected his question without him realizing it. Damm; she was good. He strode over and plucked the pillow from where it had fallen on the floor beside his bed, glaring at the poster of Jon Snow on the cracked plaster beside him. It glared right back with dark eyes that seemed to say 'try me bitch.'

"You still haven't answered my question," Eddie declared. "Where's Howie?"

Adrianna stilled once more, hands fisted in the soft cotton of a Joker graphic tee. Her shoulders were taught. He could see her shaking, trembling with frayed nerves and indecision, and it immediately made the teen feel guilty. What was the point in having your questions answered if all it did was make the person answering them absolutely fucking miserable? Answer? There was no point. Not in this. Not in the violence and the running and the anxiety. Not in the scars and the nightmares and the lies that they had to tell everyone.

 _We're fine._

 _We're getting help. Nope, nothing wrong, no siree, we're just peachy goddamn keen. Sunshine and unicorns shooting out our asses and gummi bears for teeth. We're absolutely not having nightmares about blood on pavement and screams and weirdos with red eyes. We aren't bitter and angry and in debt to the woman who we once really disliked and kind of feared because we thought she was a vampire. Turns out we were right, but that really doesn't matter because guess what?_

 _We're just goddamn fine._

Eddie snarled at himself. Then he sighed. "Mama, I'm sorry. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to. I'm just. . . . being me, I guess."

She was still shaking, but Adrianna turned and smiled at her son. "If you were anything but you, _copil_ , I would worry even more. Howie finished packing everything he wanted to take before you got started. He's with his father right now, patching up some loose ends."

The red-headed boy frowned. "What do you mean 'patching up some loose ends?' We can't legally take him with us, right? That'd be kidnapping, and I'm pretty sure you're not a kidnapper."

Joker's face distorted and crumpled beneath the power of Adrianna Tepes's nerves. "Do you remember what I told you about Enchanters, love? About how they can influence the minds of upirs and mortals alike?"

Eddie nodded. His mother continued. "Well, Howie has gone to wipe his father's memory of having a son, and to make him sign over custody to me."

Silence rang through the air like a funeral dirge.

"Holy shit," Eddie breathed. "He can do that?"

Adrianna nodded mutely and forgot to chastise her son over his language. "This is not a happy situation, _fiul_ (son). And I wish I could change the circumstances, really I do. But there is simply nothing to be done except the worst. It is a necessary cruelty."

They finished packing Eddie's copious amounts of clothing - including Christmas presents - into the few suitcases and bags they had. Everything was quiet, even the old manor that creaked and groaned furiously. Eventually, Eddie's eyes strayed to the other Game of Thrones poster he had hanging above his bed. Arya Stark stared back in black and white.

 _Valar Morghulis_

He couldn't think of a better phrase.

* * *

Howie sat in front of his father.

No, that wasn't quite right. At least, not anymore.

After all the work he had put in, all the effort and Gift-power that had flowed, he was sitting in front of Richard Jones. Who was the head scientist at F.A.T.S. Who was divorced only once and married to his work, the physics of the stars. Who loved basketball and playing Call of Duty when no one thought to pay attention and eating greasy fast food that would kill him before he was sixty. Richard Jones, with his slim build and thick glasses and thinning blonde hair, who perpetually smelled of chemicals and the heavy fabric used to make lab coats.

The man who didn't have a son.

Howie felt his heart break a little more as his father - who had loved him through all the nightmares and the dissociation and the scars - stared at him blankly. There was no recognition. None. Of course, that had been the ultimate goal. The blonde teenager had always aspired to be more like Hermione Granger than any of the characters in the books he'd read, simply because Hermione had more common sense and intelligence than any of the other role-models kids seemed to possess. And her logic had been sound in wiping her parents' memories.

But he hadn't counted on it hurting quite this much.

Well, maybe he did, but that didn't mean he had to _enjoy_ it.

"I am going to walk out that door," Howie droned, his voice multilayered and shimmering with his Enchantment. "And when I do, you are going to wake up and live your life normally. There is no Howie Jones. You have no son. Do you understand?"

Richard nodded. "Yes."

Howie's lip was bleeding; he'd bitten right through it.

Leaning forward, the blonde upir, all of fourteen and shattered quite thoroughly, pressed a kiss to his father's forehead in a parody of his childhood bedtimes. Tears leaked from the edges of his eyes. He sucked in air through his teeth to keep from crying.

"I love you, Dad. I'm really sorry about all this."

* * *

Richard Jones awoke the next morning and went to work completely normally.

He had an excellent day tracking quantum fluxes and tracking planetary movements relative to certain stars.

But, when he returned home and stared at the bare, neutral walls of his home, he couldn't help but feel like something was missing.

* * *

Thankfully, Serge had managed to procure them two separate vehicles for travel, a late-model Ford Expedition for her and the boys, and a Prius for himself.

Eddie had a field-day watching the 6'8" Serge trying to squeeze himself into the minuscule car, jeering and leering in a manner _almost_ reminiscent of his personality before this whole fiasco began. However, there was an underlying cruelty to his jokes that stood out in comparison to the light-hearted pranks and teasing he used to partake in. The juxtaposition cut Adrianna deeply, like a physical wound, and she'd had to swallow the knot in her throat several times to keep from sobbing outright.

And then there was Howie.

Her poor boy hadn't said a word since he'd come back from his father's home. He just sat, motionless, in the front seat and stared out at the road with lifeless eyes. He wasn't seeing. He wasn't thinking. He just kind of . . . _was_ , if any sense could be found in the observation.

To be quite honest, the petite woman didn't think her nerves could handle any more surprises in the near future, and she'd nearly shredded the leather of the steering wheel when a deer had suddenly popped into their headlights. Though, she was rather pleased that they didn't have to ride in the same vehicle as Serge on their way to whatever safe-house he'd managed to line up for them.

Her nerves were already shot.

She didn't need to add any more latent fury atop them.

Eventually, after about two-and-a-half hours of driving, Eddie had run out of jokes to level at Serge and had fallen asleep, sprawled across the back with two different seat-belts contorted around his midriff. He snored. Loudly. But it was a familiar, comforting sound. Because there weren't quiet whimpers and screams intermixed with the loud inhaling snores. Adrianna was still wound tighter than a two-inch spring. Howie still hadn't said a word.

But it was something.

At least, until Howie _did_ finally speak.

"Adri, I have a question."

This time, the steering wheel was not lucky enough to avoid mutilation. There were four identical gouges in the cheap leather from her nails, and they nearly ran off the side of the road.

Adrianna tried to swallow her heart again. " _Iisus_ (Jesus), Howie! You startled me."

He stared back at her solemnly. "Sorry; I didn't think it would scare you that bad."

Fingers shaking and pulse thundering, Adri turned her attention back to the road and followed Serge out onto the Interstate. "No, _dragă_ (sweetheart), it isn't your fault. I am simply on edge after today's. . . events. What is it you would like to ask?"

"Why is your sister after you and Eddie?"

The steering wheel groaned in agony.

"What?"

Howie locked onto her with fathomless blue eyes. They glowed in the dark confines of the Expedition, ice in the middle of the ocean. "Please don't make me say it again. I think we have a right to know. I'll tell Eddie so you don't have to say it again, but we need to know why everything happened. Why we're actually trusting _him_ instead of being home in bed."

For a moment, Adrianna nearly forgot that Howie was still considered a child. Only fourteen. But he was so calm, so composed and logical. It wouldn't make sense until one examined all the events that had transpired within the last two months. And then it made more sense. That didn't mean the stare was less unnerving, though. Every part of Adri's body trembled, but she kept control of the car, eyes on the road and hands at ten and two.

"If I tell you, you cannot tell Eddie," she whispered. "You have to promise me."

Howie frowned. "Why?"

" _Promise me!_ " Adri very nearly snarled it, and Howie leaned back just a hair, nodding frantically.

"Okay! I promise!"

Managing to calm down, Adrianna returned her attention to the asphalt and tried to keep a respectable distance behind Serge. She swallowed thickly, jaw working. "You have to understand that the upir are an old people, Howie. We have had laws and customs passed down for hundreds of generations. They are not to be taken lightly, not even by the royalty who enforce them, and the consequences are severe when those laws are disregarded. Do you understand so far?"

He nodded. She continued. "One of the laws that upir have followed for centuries is that we do not, under any circumstances, procreate with humans. We cannot marry them unless they are turned, and even our human friends must remain unaware of our existence lest our species be discovered. So when I met Eddie's father in college, the relationship was understandably kept very _very_ secret."

"Wait a minute, hold on," Howie interrupted. "What has this got to do with your sister trying to kill us?"

"Listen and you'll figure it out. Now, after about four months into my relationship with Eddie's father, I came to the realization that I was pregnant. Which was a disaster on multiple levels, not only because I had broken one of the most heavily-enforced laws of my people, but because I was already betrothed to Serge. There was only so long I could hide the baby. And I didn't have many options. Half-upir children are not viable to be adopted out because they have special dietary needs at the beginning of their lives. So, I could either keep Eddie and flee Romania or terminate the pregnancy. That was it. And I had to think quickly before anyone found out about it." The steering wheel screamed again. "I didn't think quickly enough."

"A few weeks after I had found out about it, Serge came to visit me unexpectedly. I did not have time to mask my scent. He smelled it right away. Honestly, I don't blame him for being so angry with me. Serge is many things, but he was always faithful to me, and I took whatever trust he had in me and threw it all away. All for a human I barely knew."

"Yeah, why did you end up with Eddie's dad, anyway?" Howie whispered. "The guy was a jerk."

Adrianna smiled thinly. "There's always that bad-boy allure that girls talk about, my sweet. And he had certain moments where he was just so sweet I couldn't help but love him. So I begged Serge not to tell anyone, as I was Crown Princess and heir to the throne. And my father was a very unforgiving man, almost as ruthless as Ioana. He promised not to tell on the condition that I got rid of the baby."

For a long moment, Adri was silent, and Howie nearly regretted asking the question as he watched her body shake.

"But I just couldn't do it. How could I? He may have been accidental, but this was _my_ baby. How could he ask me to just throw him away? I told Serge as much. He was livid, and before I could even think to try and stop him he ran off. And he told Ioana **exactly** what was going on. My sister was shocked; however, she was equally opportunistic. She used the information to tell my father. I was exiled and stripped of my royal titles. Ioana was named the Crown Princess. And I left with James and Eddie.

"Shortly after that, my sister killed my father and assumed the throne herself. But Ioana isn't well, and she thinks that I will one day return to take the throne back, regardless of our father's decision to exile me. Not to mention Ioana has been jealous of me ever since we were little girls. So she has made it her goal to find me and Eddie - and now, by extension, you - and Destroy us so that there will be no one to usurp her reign."

The silence hung heavy around them.

Howie sat, stunned, numb. Holy crap, she was a fucking QUEEN. A Queen! And she had been a princess. With lots of money and power and influence in her world.

And she had given it all up for _Eddie_.

"So does this mean me and Eddie are princes now?" he blurted. "Because that would be super freakin' cool."

The tension leeched from Adrianna's shoulders and she chuckled at him. "It's 'Eddie and I', dear. And you two have always been princes. You just didn't know it."

* * *

Neither of them noticed Eddie crying in the backseat.

He had heard every word.

 _It was his fault . . . ._

* * *

 **A/N: Holy shit, that was a doozy! And two chapters that aren't spaced nearly three or four months apart WHAATT?**

 **I'm kind of proud of this, actually, because I alternated between writing this out and studying for a genetics test I had today. And I slayed the shit out of both of them. Fuck yeah.**

 **But anyway, I hope you guys liked this. Next chapter will involve our motley crue (you see what I did there? didja?) arriving at their new safe-house, Aurelia arriving in Bailey City, and general amounts of fuckery from our lovely resident psychopath in Romania! So be prepared, peeps, for _Winter is Coming_. **

**Christ I need to sleep.**

 **Lots of love,  
BlackRosePoetry**


	12. With Fire and Blood, She Shall Take All

**Chapter Twelve: With Fire and Blood, She Shall Take All**

 _Castle Draculi is over three thousand years old, and its father is long dead._

 _The mountains are old, full of magick, full of darkness. The father who created it was a monster and a man all wrapped in one, with long teeth that craved bloody flesh. He was cruel. And he was arrogant. And he was a king. But, perhaps most importantly, he was an upir. Castle Draculi is old, maybe not so old as the mountains, but its memory is long and it can recall the feeling of steel boots clomping through its halls. The boots of its father._

 _Father had many names._

 _Vlad III, Vlad the Impaler, Vlad Tepes._

 _ **Dracula.**_

 _The Castle remembers everything, including how its own magick was born._

 _The king - its father - sliced his royal finger with his sword and the blood dripped freely. An old magick - crimson on snow on a granite-cut windowsill. The winds had carried the contract and the mountains accepted. And so it goes that blood now must be repaid with blood later, and so the castle walls that contained the House of Tepes grew wet over time. Slick and shiny crimson._

 _It remembers, for contract-children never forget._

 _But Vlad's descendants, those who do not understand the old magicks and their debts, must be persuaded. Reminded. Controlled._

 _The castle grows with each new generation of little upir. They are a thirsty lot, greedy, selfish. Some are gentle and do not like to take more than is needed. And so the castle must whisper to them, use its voice and make them_ see _. Because it is so very hungry, so very thirsty, and men must be sacrificed in order for the stones to remain nourished. So it croons in voices long gone and consumes the souls of all those who perish within its halls. It keeps them close. Keeps them warm._ _Drives them mad._ _Because madness thrives in blood. And blood is the price of the contract. And so the castle by the name of Draculi requires them both in equal measure._

 _Over the centuries it grows, this Castle Draculi, along with the madness._

 _And the payment required grows with it._

 _Nobles and Kings with black crowns, Queens with amber eyes and Princesses with fiery hair. They all fall. One by one. Corpses and blood rotting beneath carved granite floors. Castle Draculi grows stronger and stronger. It gets thirstier, thirstier, demanding more with each passing decade because it is simply **not fair**_ _that the debt be forgotten by so many ungrateful little rulers. Small Kings and Weak Queens who breed brother and sister to keep their line pure, only for their own madness to seep further into the stones that guard their bodies._

 _These rulers, these scions of House Tepes, each fall with time. One by one. Upir are meant to be immortal, but they do not count upon their own spawn being the hand that strikes them to the earth. The castle finds this amusing. And the souls taste like anger, like despair and bloodlust. It is an endless cycle of madness, blood and fire and broken bones littering the floors._

 _And still the castle thirsts._

 _Contracts made in blood must be paid in blood, and so as it grows stronger the toll grows with it._

 _There are two sisters, two descendants from its father, and one of them is so familiar that the castle smiles. Because her steps are vicious and comforting, heels like steel boots on polished floors, and he can recognize Vlad in this little girl with black hair and a Destroyer heart. She has cruelty thrumming in her veins, madness beating in time with the souls in the walls._

 ** _Kill them all. Kill them all. Kill them all._**

 ** _Feed me._**

 _Her name is Ioana, and the taste of the syllables makes Castle Draculi hum in contentment. But there is another, older, less prone to violence and madness. She is_ gentle _, and the thought disgusts the castle. Gentility does not bring blood, and it cannot feed on sentiment. Her name is Adrianna. And the little girl with fiery hair tempers her sister, soothes her, and her parents adore her. But the stones do not because the blood magick must be met for the protection to remain, and Adrianna is not so malleable as the others before that came before. She will not feed it._

 _But Ioana will._

 _And so the castle croons in voices sweet like decay. Nasty little words that burrow like maggots into a carcass. It speaks of blood and power, of how Adrianna will always be the favorite, how she is perfect and precious and to know her is to love her, and_ you will never be her, little Ioana, but I love you still. Serve me and I'll love you forever. _The seeds take root, souls of those long dead shrieking out cries of vengeance. Ioana is formed so well, perfectly gilded on the outside and rotted like corpses on the inside. She is wicked and cruel and hundreds of lives are snuffed out with a stray thought or two._

 _But Castle Draculi makes sure that those who hear its cries know that Ioana is to be protected. To be obeyed. Because she is the madness within the veins, and she feeds the magick well. Even with her sister's tempering presence. The souls croon louder, sweeter, and salt pours into Ioana's lungs like rot as she festers within her own hatred for her sister. Hatred has its own power and the power is strong, and so as its perfect little puppet grows, the castle sings and shrieks and feeds that hate well._

 _All it takes to remove Adrianna Tepes is time._

 _And since the payment was blood, and sustained in blood, the castle was also blood, it had eternity to reap what had been sewed._

 _Ioana sits on a throne carved from granite beneath the castle. A gift from the mountains which had accepted the contract so many centuries previous, and Castle Draculi croons contentedly. It purrs and murmurs quiet atrocities, stokes the coals of Ioana's madness, drinks in her offerings at its leisure. Because Ioana never allowed the stones to dry at her feet. She feeds them so very well._

 _Castle Draculi may be over three thousand years old, and its father long dead._

 _But the contract was made in blood, and had to be paid in blood, and the stones that made up its walls were the blood, and so t_ _he debt would never be paid in full._

 _Ioana Tepes had a black soul, like an obsidian blade. It would add marvelously to the collection._

 _The castle laughs and the mountains weep._

* * *

Howie could barely appreciate how large their new house was. Because he was so fucking tired that he couldn't hardly keep his eyes open. He didn't understand how Adri was still so bright-eyed and conscious at three in the goddamn morning, but apparently his mother (God it felt good but wrong at the same time) was capable of being awake for nearly a solid twenty-four hours without breaking a sweat, so that was fun. He hadn't been able to sleep in the car - mostly because he was worried about what Serge would do when they stopped - but now he was ready to fall over his own two feet.

Of course, Eddie _had_ slept in the car. Or, at least, Howie thought he'd been sleeping. But judging by the dark purple bruises ringing his brown eyes and the slight rim of red around them, whatever sleep he'd gotten had been fitful at best. They had to look ridiculous, wrinkled and exhausted, with fingers trembling from sleep deprivation and anxiety. But at least they were going to be safe for a time. And then there wouldn't be the damned whispers following them around the halls of Bailey High anymore.

" _They should've died that night, too . . . . "_

A delicate hand pushed gently on his shoulder, and Howie nearly tripped over his own feet. But he managed to catch himself just before face-planting in the half-frozen dirt by grasping onto Adri's forearm, righting himself with an awkward sigh of relief. He groaned quietly and shot her a pleading look. However, the glazed-over expression that was returned was his only answer, and the blonde teenager moved to open the back hatch of the Expedition so he could get the bags with Eddie. Neither brother said a word the entire time. Vaguely, they could hear Serge talking with someone on the front porch.

The new voice was a baritone rumble, deep and masculine and . . . vaguely familiar? Where had he heard that voice before? Howie frowned and listened harder to the conversation. Clearly, whoever owned the house was no fan of Serge - which was a relief - and the only reason they were allowed to stay was because Adri needed somewhere safe. _They_ needed somewhere safe. His hands moved of their own accord, gathering suitcases and duffel-bags in a sort of practiced haze of tiredness. Eddie was leaning against his side despite being taller. Howie suspected that his brother had fallen asleep standing up.

"I thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Wayne," Serge breathed tiredly. "You truly have a noble spirit."

"Don't get any funny ideas, Demon-spawn," the man barked, sounding far too awake for the late hour. "I'm not doing this for you. Adrianna and her boys need some place to get away from the queen, and I'll give it to the. But you aren't staying within ten miles of my home, you understand?"

"I understand very clearly, Mr. Wayne," the fuck-truck crooned. "I just wanted to express my thanks before I took my leave. Have a good evening."

With that, the tall French upir stepped off the white wrap-around porch and shot Adrianna a longing glance as she leaned into the back seat, gathering fluffy Spiderman and Batman blankets. Howie hissed violently. His Gift rolled off him in tangible waves that made Eddie snap upright, expression feral. Serge's eyes were glowing crimson in the darkness, and both teenagers blanched as they were taken back to That Night. It was memories of screaming and pain. Liza staring up at the moon with dead filmy eyes. Blood on asphalt. Terror.

Neither of them realized they were shaking until Serge drove away and left them, shuddering and crying, against the back of the Expedition.

Eddie was the first to gather himself. He clutched his new coat - dark-wash denim on the outside with a gray fleece lining and hood - tighter around his broadening shoulders and clapped a hand down on Howie's arm. "C'mon, man," he rasped, hoarse. "Let's get our stuff and go in. It's freezing out here."

Mute, Howie nodded, and he followed the taller boy onto the wide porch with his eyes downcast. The suitcases weren't heavy despite being stuffed with nearly everything they ever possessed. He kind of wished they were, but, then again, nothing was really physically challenging since he became an upir. His strength was nearly frightening, and sometimes it was hard to control. But feeling some sort of physical strain would be welcome compared to the emotional pressure crushing in from all sides.

"Thank you so very much for this, John," Adrianna breathed quietly.

It came from somewhere in front of him - Howie couldn't really tell distance anymore. He just kind of focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Eddie didn't even do that. He just stumbled and shuffled and only barely managed to keep from keeling over. The fourteen year old smelled well-worn leather and gunpowder, high-dollar bourbon and horses. It was an oddly comforting smell, earthy and rugged. It reminded him of the rodeos his step-father used to take him to when he was small, before his mother had really sank her claws in. The masculine aroma was full of warmth, if that made any sense. Which it really didn't. But it was three in the fucking morning, so the teen didn't really care.

Things weren't supposed to make sense at three a.m.

"Don't mention it, Your Highness," the man rumbled, and again that odd feeling of familiarity washed over Howie. "Anything we can do to help to keep you away from your sister. She's . . . . somethin'."

Adri let out a humorless chuckle. "That is a very kind way to put it. May we come in?"

"Of course - your boys look like they're about to fall over themselves. C'mon, I'll show you to your rooms."

With that, the back-lit silhouette of the tall man retreated into the large house. Eyes crossing, colors blurring, the two boys followed their mother, and the man by-proxy. The house was large and spacious; however, it was dimly lit to prevent waking whoever else lived there. Howie could smell perfume, spicy with cinnamon and cloves intermixed with nutmeg. It was a pleasant scent, and it mixed into the man's gunpowder and dirt aroma throughout the house. Apparently there were other teens in the house, too, because he could smell Axe body spray when they tip-toed up the main staircase.

Eventually, the man lead them to a set of three doors on the second level. "Alright, boys, you can pick your rooms. Adri, this first one here's for you since it's the largest. This okay?"

"It's perfect, John. Thank you." Adrianna was beginning to sound tired herself. "Thank you, again."

The man nodded mutely, and Howie nearly screeched when a massive, calloused hand clapped down on his bony shoulder. "Get some sleep, boys. You might be guests here, but I expect you both to work hard for me once you've gotten a decent night's rest. See ya in the mornin'."

Before Howie could really get a good look up at him, the man was gone, bouncing down the stairs with a smooth, rolling gate. Christ, _why_ couldn't he figure out where he'd seen this man? It had to be the sleep deprivation. Yeah, that was it. He just really needed to sleep. Even though he knew that sleeping would bring nightmares, and the nightmares would bring anxiety. And then that anxiety would just make him angry. Which made him even more tired. It was a vicious cycle. But he didn't know how to break it, so he'd just keep trucking until something gave way.

With a mumbled goodnight to his mother, Howie stumbled into the middle bedroom before Eddie could think to take it. It was fairly big, with two large windows that let in the moonlight. He didn't bother trying to put his things down gracefully. The fourteen year old put all of his bags in front of the closet, took about four big steps, and collapsed onto the full-sized bed. It was plush and fluffy, with a heavy comforter, and he nearly wept in gratitude. Just because he chose to sleep in a nest on the floor in Bailey City didn't mean that he was _comfortable_ there.

Howie barely managed to kick his shoes off and wriggle under the blankets before he descended into unconsciousness.

* * *

Eddie was trying to decide whether to be heart-broken, angry, or a combination of the two.

In the moment, he was landing on the third option quite heavily, and tears trickled over his cheeks as he threw his stuff into a corner of the room he'd been given. It wasn't super huge, but it was decent sized. The walls were gray, bare, moonlight streaming in from the window above his new bed and making everything seem morbid. Cold.

Everything was morbid and cold these days, even Christmas.

 _And it's all your fault, little boy. You were just born to fuck things up, weren't you?_

He could practically hear his Grandma, rasping out the words in her heavy chain-smoker voice, and he clenched his jaw until he thought his teeth might shatter from the force. Eddie squeezed his eyes shut. He growled, punched the comforter because he didn't want to bust the wall on his very first night here. His palms were bleeding from his fingernails. This was _wrong_. If he hadn't come along, his mother could have been in a castle she called her own, surrounded by people she loved. She could have laughed freely and been a queen. She could have lived as royalty with someone who loved her, not on the run and toting around two damaged little boys with shadows behind their eyes. But, nope, he was alive and Adrianna Tepes gave him a love he didn't deserve and lived as an exile. She lived as an exile, away from everything she'd ever known and loved, for _him_.

And they hadn't even gotten to stay home on Christmas.

It was his fault. All his fault. It had been his mother's heart on the line, and he'd really fucked everything up, didn't he?

Eddie clenched his fists in his hair, held his head, and cried a little more. He collapsed on the bed. It groaned at him in protest while mucus and tears and saliva clogged his airways. He was choking. Sobbing. Crying like a little bitch. He hadn't cried like this since he got it through his thick skull that Liza was never coming back, since he figured out that his mother had left to protect him. God, why couldn't he just be strong enough to keep people from getting hurt? Or, better yet, why did he have to be the reason his mom's life had been ruined?

Everything hurt. And he wanted to sleep. But he couldn't stop crying. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't function. Oh, fuck, this was bad. This was BAD. He was panicking, hyperventilating.

 _Don't know. Don't know. Can't stop._

 _Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck, just breathe!_

 _Dammit, breathe!_

The fourteen year old passed out atop his bed.

* * *

Eddie and Howie were brothers in everything but blood.

Apparently, brothers shared dreams.

* * *

 _Liza was screaming and they couldn't get to her._

 _Howie sprinted forward, fangs glinting. He was shrieking, bleeding, feet torn and eyes wild as the air around him rippled with pulses of Enchantment. Eddie wasn't sure how he was keeping up - he wasn't an upir, just a little hybrid spawn - but he was. Effortlessly. There was fire all around them but it didn't burn for some reason. It jumped and danced in time with his heartbeat. **Kill him. Save her. Kill him. Save her.** There was a snarl in his throat and a scream settling in his chest. _

_There were bodies all around them. Faceless opponents that didn't register in their adrenaline-addled skulls. Howie was Enchanting upir two and three at a time, and the little puppet leeches collapsed in heaps around them. Eddie was burning them. He was **burning them**. The fire was part of him, an extension of his soul, and it responded without hesitation. They leapt and laughed and swooned over flesh, consuming faceless enemies in mind and soul. Liza kept screaming. And the hoards kept growing. _

_Too much distance to cover. Too little time. They weren't going to make it._

 _Liza was looking at them, and even though she was still alive her eyes were filmed over and white. A corpse's gaze. Eddie screamed and the flames burned black. Howie howled as men around him descended into drooling heaps of madness. They expected to see Serge. But, no, that wasn't right. Serge was wrapped in their mother's arms and his chest was bleeding. He was going to die, but his lips were moving. His eyes, bloody red hellpools, were teary._

Save them both, _they whispered_

 _There was another holding onto Liza. A beautiful woman, tall and fair with bright violet eyes that sparked depravity, grinned at them. A wrought-iron crown of thorns rested on her brow and rubies glittered at her throat. Ivory razors peeked out from behind her lips. Liza had stopped screaming. In her place was another girl. A lithe girl with thick ebony curls. One violet eye was ruined and dripping. The other was terrified, locked onto them. Her name was Aurelia and neither boy knew how they came across the knowledge. But there she was. Bleeding and pleading and trying to fight but failing._

 _"I've found you now."_

 _The woman's voice would have been pleasant had it not been for the insanity practically dripping from every syllable._

 _"I have found you, and now I'm going to Destroy you."_

 _Howie hissed and Aurelia was crying his name. Eddie felt the flames climb up his spine and light behind his eyes. Everything was hot. Bright. Clear. Burning. But this was the most alive he'd felt in years. Even though he knew it hadn't **really** been years since Liza had been killed, only about a month. Years felt right, though, more comfortable. And his body seemed larger, broader with more musculature, more graceful and controlled. It was like he'd grown into it somehow. Howie was bigger too. And stronger. And less. . . . angry? Vengeful? No word seemed to quantify it, but the quality was there. _

_They looked at the woman, two brothers, condemned by hoards of upir around them. Their mother was crying. Serge was dead._

 _"I will Destroy you slowly."_

"You can try," _they spoke as one._ "And you will fail."

 _A sword flashed out of nowhere, cutting towards their throats. But it was too slow. There was a man - Samael, the one from That Night - and his face was a grinning mask. Howie hissed and the Warrior fell screaming, clawing at his head with fingernails that dug bloody trenches in his scalp. There were screams echoing from the stone walls around them, like they were dying, being injured, and there was a feeling of being watched that made Eddie's hair stand on edge. Ice-blue met dark brown as the brothers looked toward one another. They needed to win. They NEEDED to win. Because this was it, the final showdown, and Ioana would destroy everything should they fail._

 _Not even Ioana Tepes, with her serial-killer's smile, would stand in the way of victory._

 _Eddie roared and the fire burned hotter, brighter, blacker. The walls screamed in time with Ioana's shrieks. Rage, agony, that primal desperate need to survive all creatures possess. For the first time in his life, Eddie felt **powerful**. And he smiled. It pulled awkwardly at his cheeks but this just felt right. Howie was shouting obscenities and trying to fight his way toward Aurelia. It wasn't working. Because every fighter and pawn he killed seemed to spawn three in its place, bodies dropping from the walls. _

_Hail Hydra, apparently._

 _Ioana smiled once more, and it was like a battle-mask. Lady Death come to war, ready to slay all those around her. "If I am to burn, then you shall burn with me, little half-breed. Burn us all! BURN US ALL!"_

"Fine. We're all gonna burn anyway. Might as well get ready for Hell."

 _Somewhere in the very back of his mind, Eddie realized that he was about to consume the last two people he truly loved in the world. His brother. His mother. But he can't make himself stop. The black tongues of heat crept higher and higher, raging and bawling, melting the masonry around them. This castle, the living beast borne of dark magick - and he still didn't know how he knew that - was going to die shrieking. And shriek it did. Hundreds of voices, male and female, young and old, echoed. Still, Eddie kept going. Idly, he realized that his mother was up and running, sweat and soot staining her pale face and fear in her green eyes. She was holding a sword and hacking warriors to pieces with a graceful ease that made him almost_ **almost** _jealous._

 _He couldn't stop._

 _Howie was dying. He could hear his brother burning. And his mother was crying. Aurelia kept screaming for Howie, tears on ruined cheeks, begging him to stop. She was a Warrior, but something was snapped. And she couldn't fight back. His ears were bleeding. The castle kept shrieking, thrashing while it crumbled._

 _Eddie looked to the heavens as a piece of Castle Draculi fell from overhead. . . ._

 _Howie looked to his brother as the flames engulfed his entire person. . . ._

* * *

Howie sat bolt upright in bed, panting and covered in sweat.

"Holy shit," he breathed. "Holy _fucking_ shit."

That had been. . . . one hell of a dream. Howie had grown incredibly used to nightmares - ones that involved screaming and death, filmy gazes and a blood-curdling scream - but that had been something entirely different. In fact, the fourteen year old boy didn't even know if he could qualify that as a dream, much less a nightmare. It felt tangible. Like a premonition. Or déjà vu. Everything had felt so _real._ Swallowing thickly, he tossed back the thick blankets and shuddered in the cool air, still trying to recall all of the details.

They had been fighting. He wasn't a Warrior, but he had known how to use a sword. Serge had died. His mother had been crying, liquid dripping from emeralds. And Eddie was. . . . . Eddie was. . . . He remembered fire. Black fire. It had raged and bawled, climbing up the walls of whatever castle they had been in the middle of taking. The walls had screamed like they were filled with people. Like they were somehow alive. Just thinking about it was enough to make the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. There had been a woman. A wrought-iron crown on her head, violet eyes, crooning and shrieking and insane. _Lady Death. . . Ioana Tepes._

Howie shook his head and pulled off his crumpled tee shirt. He didn't know how he knew that. As he yawned and stretched, spine cracking with a sharp twist, another face suddenly popped into reality. She had been beautiful. Just like Ioana, all pale skin and inky black curls, violet eyes. Except one had been ruined, dribbling blood and fluid over one high cheekbone while she cried. For him. The girl had cried for him. Begged for Eddie and the false-queen to stop. She'd quit fighting to _save him_.

 _Aurelia_.

The name tasted sweet, like honey and sugar cookies, and it filled him with an odd sort of warmth that the young man hadn't felt in a long while. Frustrated, freaked-out, and confused, Howie snarled under his breath. He shoved a thick beanie down over his uncombed (and unwashed) blonde hair before furiously pulling on a pair of woolen socks. Upir may have been superior in strength, mentality, and physical abilities, but damn if he wasn't always fucking cold. The young teen was so wrapped up in his mutterings of anger that he didn't hear the door to his room open. Nor did he hear the oddly soft footsteps traveling towards him.

"Did you have a nightmare too?"

Howie dropped to the floor screeching like a four year old. His heart was pounding ten-miles-a-minute, blue eyes wide, and he clutched at his chest as Eddie stood over him. The other teen was obviously trying to keep from breaking down into a fit of helpless giggles; however, it wasn't working because there were tears in his eyes and his face looked like a strawberry under his red curls. Furious, Howie leapt back to his feet with what was his attempt at a threatening hiss.

What came out was something akin to a strangled cat, and it put Eddie into hysterics.

" _Why_ the hell would you do that?!" the blonde teen wheezed. "What is wrong with you?! Jesus's tits, you nearly gave me a heart attack!"

Eddie was _rolling_. There were tears streaming from his dark eyes, and he clutched at his stomach while he cackled on the floor. It was obvious he hadn't been up for very long either. His hair was a mess, his face was unwashed, and his clothes looked completely disheveled. But there was an odd brightness about the whole exchange, something that would have normally made Howie quite happy had he not been ready to bite into his own heart. And if he hadn't screamed like a girl. Still, he managed to calm down enough to just shoot a glare at his brother before smacking him with the tee-shirt that he'd mangled in his scramble to get away.

"Oh my gawd!" Eddie guffawed. "That was priceless! I didn't even sneak into the room, and you screamed like a friggin' baby!"

Again, the taller boy dropped into a fit of helpless laughter and slumped back onto the hardwood. Red-faced and ready to kill someone, Howie angrily pulled on a cotton tee and a red-checkered button-up shirt. His dark-wash blue jeans were baggy - about a size and a half too big, actually - but he had a belt that fit fine. He adjusted the beanie over his ears and pulled on his new steel-toed boots, the ones Adri had bought him for Christmas. The blonde boy shot one last contemptuous "asshole" over his shoulder before stalking out of the room.

Only to be met by Adrianna standing in the hallway, arms crossed under her breasts and green eyes blazing.

"What on _Earth_ is going on in there?" she questioned sharply under her breath. "You boys are going to wake the entire house at the rate! And why are you awake? It's barely eight. I would have expected you two to be asleep until at least noon."

Howie blinked stupidly for a long moment. Two long moments. Three. God, was it really _that_ early? It felt like he'd been sleeping for a life-time - and, honestly, he could've just slept the world away - but he'd barely gotten five hours of sleep. Maybe it was some sort of evil upir power that prevented them from enjoying unconsciousness.

 _(Or maybe it's nightmares that are really more like dreams that keep you from enjoying them, dreams about revenge and blood and fire on walls that scream. Hmm? Is that it, little boy, little Enchanter?)_

Howie shook his head, nearly dislodging his carefully placed beanie, and took another good look at his mother. Adrianna looked exhausted. There was no other way to describe it. There were dark purple bruises, shadows beneath the emerald eyes glaring up at him, and her body was tense. Her face was paler than normal. And the baggy pajamas that she had managed to pull on dwarfed her slender frame. It made her seem more fragile than usual, and it put a lump in Howie's throat. He reached forward and hugged her tightly, heart cracking even more when she tensed at the sudden movement. He could feel Eddie behind them - the idiot had finally stopped laughing - but it didn't really matter. They just needed to tip-toe through the snow for a little while longer. Then their mother would never look exhausted, never appear fragile.

She would be strong and brilliant, shining, and a wrought-iron crown would rest on her pretty red curls.

"Sorry, Mom," he whispered. "We're just restless. Go back to bed. We'll get our own breakfast and finish unpacking."

Petite hands curled into the back of his shirt, and Adri squeezed him back just as tightly. "Alright, _dragă_ (sweetheart) _._ Come and get me if you two need anything, alright?"

Howie managed a wan smile. "Yes, ma'am. We promise."

With a glance at Eddie, who was standing in the doorway with an odd look on his freckled face, she turned and retreated back into the bedroom that their new - patron? protector? what the fuck ever - landlord allocated for her the night before. Howie stood in the hallway trembling for a second or two. Then he turned to Eddie. His brother, who never failed to be an enormous pain in the ass, but always managed to make up for it later. The boy who had been his best friend for years. Who had convinced Adri to save his life. The accidental baby she gave up _everything_ for.

The one standing in the door to his room, wearing wrinkled clothes and a look of self-loathing mixed into equal parts terror.

"Okay, so what the hell was so important that you had to scare the ever-loving crap out of me at eight in the frickin' morning?" Howie scowled viciously.

Eddie looked at him with eyes like tar pitch. "I had a dream last night. I killed all of us to get rid of this . . . Ioana chick that keeps hunting us down. I'm pretty sure that I made fire."

Howie blanched. " _D_ _racu 'sfânt_ (holy fuck)," he whispered. "I had the same dream. Were you older? Did the walls scream?"

Wordlessly, Eddie nodded. "I was some kind of whacked-out firebender, dude. It was weird and scary."

The boys stood in silence, listening to the old house settle and creak around them. Winter was here to wreak havoc on bones. To tear down little boys with scars on their minds, ushering in madmen and distrust and murder. Cold air blasted down their spines even though the house was warm. Howie wanted to kill something. He was so thirsty and so tired and so angry. Being furious was an exhausting endeavor. And Eddie. . . .

The tall red-headed boy, all of fourteen and with a thousand-yard stare, wanted to drop off the face of the planet. Because he was the cause of all of this bullshit. Because he had fucked _everything_ up. Because, even when he'd taken care of the threat, even when he destroyed the castle and burned the voices in the walls, set Ioana's smirk alight, he'd destroyed everything he'd ever loved in the process.

 _And he hadn't cared. . . . because he'd gotten his vengeance._

Then Eddie frowned. "When did we figure out how to swear in Romanian?"

Howie barked out a startled laugh. "I have no frickin' idea. It just kind of slipped out. I didn't even think you would know what it meant."

"Dude, our lives are so weird," Eddie groaned quietly. "If we live long enough to have children, they're going to think we've crawled out of some fucked-up genetic cesspool."

Despite the dread and the pain in their chests, the teenage boys laughed quietly for a short while. It was nice - being able to joke about something that probably didn't need to be joked about. It eased the pain, relieved a bit of the tension. A loud growl from Eddie's stomach broke through their laughter and sent them into a fresh fit of snorting giggles. The slightly older teen clapped his brother on the shoulder.

"C'mon. Let's go get some food. I'm about to keel over."

Silently, the two boys padded down the heavy staircase, taking in their surroundings more efficiently than they had the previous night. There were ornate handguns and muzzle-loaders hanging on the walls, along with various framed promotional posters for various western movies. _The Sons of Katie Elder_ , _McLintock!_ , _True Grit_ \- they all stared back in classic technicolor. Howie grinned stupidly because, despite his rather nerdy appearance, one of his favorite things to do was sit and watch old western movies with his Dad.

John Wayne was a badass, and no one could tell him otherwise.

As they reached the front foyer, both boys could hear the sounds of heavy footsteps coming from down the hallway by the stairs. There was an old-fashioned coat rack by the front door with cowboy hats and Carhartt coats draped over its wooden frame. There were more pictures, all in black and white, lining the hallways. Most were of kids. There was a grown man with two small children tucked under both arms, smiling at the camera from the edge of a pool. A teen in a football uniform. A girl barrel racing in the National Finals Rodeo. As he looked, the feeling of familiarity grew stronger in Howie's gut. He smacked Eddie on the shoulder gently.

"Dude, are you seeing what I'm seeing?" the blonde hissed.

Eddie shot him a weird look. "Yeah; the dude that lives here has a lot of kids that do different sports. What is your deal?"

Without listening to him, the older boy pushed open the door to what he assumed would be the kitchen, judging by the smell of bacon and hashbrowns emanating from behind the dark-stained wood. A very large, broad frame stood over an old-fashioned wood burning stove, stirring some bacon around in a cast-iron skillet. Eddie started drooling quietly, eyes trained solely on the food.

"Oh, dude, I'm starving! That smells awesome!"

The man laughed, and Howie froze. _Holy shit, he knew that laugh. . . . ._

"Well, that's what I like to hear! C'mon and sit down. I was expecting to have to wake you boys up for breakfast."

He turned around and both boys nearly dropped to the floor in shock.

"Holy shit, you're John Wayne!" Howie exclaimed. "You're _John frickin' Wayne!_ "

The tall man smiled. It was rough around the edges, just like the rest of him, and he poured some of the bacon grease into a mason jar on the granite counter-top. "Yeah, yeah. Just don't go around advertisin' it. I'd like to keep the fact that I'm an upir secret for a little bit longer."

Howie was practically vibrating in place with excitement and shock. Eddie just stared in mute disbelief, mouth gaping open. They didn't say anything for a long moment. And then another voice broke through the crackling of bacon grease and crispy potatoes. Another familiar voice with an Irish lilt that Howie hadn't heard since the last time he and his father had a movie night.

"Duke, what's all the fuss about? I heard shouting."

In through another door came a tall redheaded lady with bright blue-green eyes, hands on her hips and a frown creasing her porcelain brow. She looked right at them for a moment, and her face broke into a gracious smile. "Oh! These must be Adrianna's boys! Good morning - I'm Maureen. It's very nice to meet you."

Howie took this as the proper moment to pass out.

Eddie followed soon after.

John frowned, staring at his long-time lover and confidant. "Now what the hell am I going to do with all this bacon?"

* * *

Aurelia was panicking.

And when the Crown Princess, the Black Knight and heir to the Shadow Kingdom, panicked, someone usually died. In a very painful manner. Because a loss of control was _not_ something that ever happened to her. Because she kept such a tight rein on her Warrior instinct that it bordered on manic, on unhealthy. Because she so often teetered on the edge of coldly detached apathy and seething rage. Because of all the abuses and the hurt and the paranoia that crept like ink-stains on the edges of her mind slowly built up until she went. . . .

 **Boom.**

On the edge of hyperventilating, Aurelia let out an enraged shriek that echoed through the deserted manor like a death-cry. Her violet eyes were white-rimmed and wild. Ebony flew around her pale face in long shanks that continuously fell from their confining ponytail. With another shriek, the fourteen year old sent the abandoned Christmas tree flying through the air. It landed on the staircase with a thunderous boom, which was soon followed by the crash of the couch flying through an adjacent wall. Spittle flew from between over-red lips as Aurelia roared, over and over, rage and panic and terror etched on every inch of her pretty face.

"I TOLD YOU NOT TO LOSE THEIR TRAIL, YOU HALF-WIT!" the princess snarled. "You had one FUCKING job! ONE JOB! And you couldn't even do that right? Had I no more need for you, I'd tear your throat out right now. I would leave your body for the rats."

Bellatrix cowered at her feet, red eyes dripping tears as the smaller girl kicked her in the sniveling maw. She simpered and proclaimed her innocence, made excuse after excuse as to why she could no longer pick up a trail. Something to do with Enchantment and a scent-mask created by a Mage. It mattered not.

Because all Aurelia could see was the rage in her mother's eyes. The disappointment. The gleeful scorn as her muscles were separated from bones, organs displaced while she screamed. Blood seeping from her nose and ears and mouth. Pain. Pain. Pain, pain, pain! This would not do. She never failed. She was the Black Knight, the scion of House Tepes, the Crown Princess. Things like this just didn't _happen_ to her.

She would not allow it.

With a disturbingly snake-like movement, Aurelia reached out and grasped Bellatrix by the throat. The Tracker gasped and choked, sputtering around the offending limb, but Aurelia held firm. Her violet eyes were glittering, desperate madness gleaming in them, and her chest heaved with the effort it took to draw each breath.

( _mother's going to kill you slowly_ )

( ** _fuck off and shut up. you're not helping_** )

Fingers trembling with the effort it took not to rip off Bellatrix's head, Aurelia began to piece together a new course of action. She snarled. The quivering heap of flesh that was her Tracker smacked the hardwood floor with a painful thud. The older woman yelped. But she quickly shut up when her princess hissed low under her breath. Because Aurelia was tick-tick-tock a time-bomb clock, and she didn't want to die.

"You are going to track down Serge," Aurelia whispered. "He is the only one who knew of our plan, the only one who could have betrayed us and warned my aunt. We will get answers from him. GO! Lady Death does not accept failure with grace!"

Bruises ringing her neck and an insane giggle on her lips, Bellatrix darted out the ruined front door with Aurelia hot on her heels.

( _we will not fail_ )

( ** _no we won't. lest it be our heads on a spike._** )

* * *

 **A/N: Holy shit.**

 **Believe me, I was not expecting this chapter to be so goddamn long. But it happened. I should be studying for my Organic Chemistry midterm. But here I am, posting a new chapter on this story because I am trash and the plot-bunnies refused to leave me alone. Still, I wish you lovely readers the best of wishes, and I hope your Spring Breaks shall be as lovely and full of sleep as mine shall be.**

 **Other than writing a lab report. . . . . I pity the poor bastards that follow in my footsteps on this one.**

 **Leave me a comment! Constructive criticism is always welcome, and I'll meet you on the flip-side!**

 **Sincerely,  
BlackRosePoetry**


	13. As The World Burns, We Roar

**Chapter Thirteen: As the World Burns, We Roar**

Aurelia was _not_ crazy.

The young princess was cold and calculating, keeping herself in permanent emotional shut-down in order to cope with the violence that occurred in her life on a day-to-day basis. She had seen grown men torn limb from limb by her mother's stray thoughts, watched as children spluttered and choked on their own blood as their organs were slowly crushed. Mother after mother had wailed and shrieked over the corpses of their beloved progeny before her apathetic gaze. Over time, the fourteen year old had simply grown numb to the disgusting habits of her mother and the cronies that fell under her command.

But emotional shut-down, numbness, apathy. . . . they did _not_ equate to insanity.

Insanity was listening to the whispers in the halls, from the stones soaked in crimson from hundreds of bodies long gone. Insanity was paying attention and heading every call for violence from a structure that had no morals. Insanity was being oblivious to the old magick that coursed through every hall of Castle Draculi and not caring that it was around.

Old magick _was_ insanity. It was carnage and destruction and decay, and that was how Aurelia knew that what she was doing in the moment was not crazy in the least. Because she was most patently NOT listening to the voices and the old magick, to blood on steel on a granite window sill, and the violence did not feed the stones.

It didn't make her feel any less sick to her stomach.

Violet eyes aglitter and steel sword cold in her palm, Aurelia twisted the blade further into the young man's shoulder. The fledgling upir howled and squirmed, tears coursing over his cheeks and into his rough beard. She did not know his name – honestly, she did not care to – but names were meaningless when attempting to coerce information out of someone. Names made things personal, and she could not afford even a single moment of weakness. Not when everything rode on finding Serge before the queen found them out.

"Where. Is. He?" the princess hissed. Her voice could have frozen steel.

Bellatrix giggled somewhere behind her, shuffling from foot to foot, and Aurelia nearly snarled at her insipid presence. The one sniveling at her feet had to be at least twenty, maybe older, but his spine was made of wet tissue paper. Honestly, she had endured worse torture at a much _much_ younger age without so much as a whimper of protest. But here he was, sobbing and pleading like a useless sap when all he'd had to endure was a few cracked ribs and a sword through the shoulder. How pathetic. She always remembered what she was, a monster, and that could not be captured by something so ineffectual as words.

The princess carried out orders without pause and tried to ignore the sick mixture of joy and horror that flooded her system.

"You haven't answered my question, _fledgling_ ," Aurelia whispered quietly. "This will not end until I have received an answer. You reek of Serge D'angouleme, meaning you have had recent contact. Tell me where he is, or I will personally send you to Lady Death for further questioning."

The threat rang hollow in Aurelia's own ears; however, she watched the terror burn in the fledgling's amber eyes with a chilling sense of satisfaction.

"No! No, please, you can't! I'll tell you!" the fledgling begged. "Just don't tell the Lady Death! I've done nothing wrong!"

Again, Bellatrix giggled like a child in a candy store, and Aurelia had to suppress the urge to run her through with the borrowed sword. However, the Warrior settled for landing a solid kick to the fledgling upir's busted ribs. He wailed and curled in on himself. A sneer curled the princess's lips – this was why little boys with no extraordinary Gifts should play with the big kids. Serge may have enjoyed surrounding himself with useless sycophants, but when push came to shove there was no use for a person without special abilities in a world such as theirs.

A little Mage who could only animate paper toys was a naught but a liability, one that could easily snap under pressure.

"Then tell me where he is," Aurelia purred, fighting down a wince at how very cold she sounded, "and I shall let you keep your miserable life. But I'm warning you; lie to me, and I shall have your head decorating the turrets of Castle Draculi."

The young man nodded frantically, blood making his chocolate hair stand up in awkward tufts. With one last sharp twist, Aurelia removed the sword from its place in his shoulder-socket. Blood poured from the wound like a fountain. Bellatrix was practically vibrating in place, the sight of liquid rubies making it nearly impossible to ignore the hunger-pains roiling her stomach. Even Aurelia, who prided herself on her self-control, licked her lips at the smell.

But the boy was valuable, and she had given her word that she would let him live, so the princess ignored the feeling.

She was _not_ insane.

And she would not murder senselessly.

"Serge came to me asking for the location of a Mage, one that can mask Auras to keep a Tracker from finding people." The boy was trembling, tears of shame in his amber eyes, but he did not stop talking. "I knew where the guy was – Emmanuel Sangrey is his name – and I told Serge how to find him. He's gotta be in New Orleans! That's where Emmanuel lives, in a little flat above his shop in the French Quarter. Please, that's all I know! PLEASE!"

Violet eyes narrowed, Aurelia scrutinized the young man cowering at her feet for a long while. Then she smiled, all sharp teeth and false sweetness, and her expression unintentionally mirrored the one her mother so often wore just before Destroying a prisoner. Bellatrix kept giggling. Never silent. Always present. The feeling of psychotic glee that oozed from the older woman's every pore was enough to set one's teeth on edge.

It made Aurelia want to slaughter everything in sight.

"Excellent, little fledgling," the princess crooned. "Your information is well-noted. You may go."

The young man scrambled to get away from them, the filthy concrete of the alley stained with his blood. Aurelia watched him go, impassive, while her companion simply paced behind her in anticipation. She could hear the dreadlocks swaying. Back and forth, back and forth, a pendulum of madness on the clock of a broken mind. Betrayal and fury crawled up her spine, leeching and insect-like.

 _kill him_ , the emotions purred. _k_ _ill him and everything will be alright. he could still tell that you have been asking around and word could get back to Mother and she'll **know** and then we'll both die and that's no good is it? no good at all. we'll be free, you and i, in the clear my dear and all you have to do is slay one useless little Mage trying to play in the big leagues. __it isn't hard._ _do it._ _you want to._

 _(don't listen to the voices. you aren't like mother._ )

( ** _i know. we aren't mad, are we?_** )

( _we're all a little mad here, my dear. it's simply a matter of perspective._ )

Aurelia growled at the voices concocting her inner monologue. The teenager whirled on her heel and regarded her subordinate frostily, gaze measured to leave the older woman quaking in her damaged shoes. Nausea pulsed in time with her heartbeat as bright crimson eyes looked up, hunger like liquid in their depths. Bellatrix, come to find out, very rarely stood up straight. She preferred to crouch, to cower, to keep low to the ground so she could Track more efficiently and slink away when she thought no one was paying attention. It was a habit that Aurelia, coached from age three on perfect posture and bearing, found the habit almost as deplorable as the woman's hygiene, personality, and taste in fashion.

Well, Aurelia loathed every aspect of Bellatrix Lemercier, but her posture was just icing on the proverbial cake.

"May I hunt now, My Lady?" Bellatrix whimpered. "May I? I'm so hungry."

Another sneer curled Aurelia's pale lips. She lashed out, her steel-toed combat boot catching the British woman under the jaw. She landed with an audible _thud!_ and a yelp. And though the wrath coiling in the princess's gut still wasn't fully satisfied, she refrained for damaging her best asset any further. Her delicate hands curled into white-knuckled fists, carving crescent moon lacerations into her palms that dripped onto the debris below.

This was a good thing, right? They knew where Serge was, knew how to find him and who had cast the protection spell over Adrianna. Mother would never find out, of course, because there was no upir alive who would not take her threat seriously. So why did she feel so sickened? Like she had just committed some horrible atrocity? Really, the interrogation had been tame compared to some of the things Mother required of her on an almost weekly basis back home. She'd barely even injured the little weakling.

But, still, Aurelia felt like vomiting.

"My Lady?"

Bellatrix's annoying, high-pitched drawl brought the princess back to the present. Aurelia snarled loudly, cutting the silence of the Indiana back-alley, and regarded the other woman with a gaze that burned. One day, she thought, God would cut them down. Sooner or later, it would happen. But in the meantime, she would do all she could to stay alive and control the damage.

"You have done as I required, Bellatrix," Aurelia whispered. "You may have one human as a reward. There is one catch, however. You cannot kill anyone younger than eighteen. Is that completely understood?"

The crazed filthy woman looked utterly stricken. However, the dangerous look in her Lady's violet gaze was enough to curb her immense disappointment. She nodded frantically, bugs falling from her matted hair.

"Yes, My Lady! Of course, My Lady! Where would you like me to meet you once my hunt is done?"

Aurelia turned and faced the other direction, an icy wind carrying the stench of rotting trash and decaying meat to her sensitive nose. "Meet me on the south edge of town. We shall head towards New Orleans forthwith once you have finished eating. Do NOT make me wait for you."

The sound of excited giggling and footsteps pounding away at an alarming rate was Aurelia's only response. She waited for a long moment, listening, watching, the rage bawling in her chest like a sonic boom. Her shoulders began to shake. Tears coursed over her high cheekbones. The girl was stock-still, rigid and so very alone. Blood mingled with the pools of water at her feet, mixed in with the blood of the boy she had just finished interrogating.

No.

That was the wrong word.

The boy that she had just finished **torturing**.

With a broken sob, Aurelia crashed to her knees in the alley. Every inch of her body trembled and shook with the force of her cries. She couldn't see for the tears, clawing at her scalp, desperately trying to ignore the voices hissing in the back of her skull. They were mad mad mad and she was bad bad bad and what the hell was all of this shit _for_?! To kill a boy not much older than her who had never known what it was like to grow up in a viper pit? A boy who probably had friends, family, a mother that actually goddamn loved him? She didn't want to do this. She didn't want to be crazy, didn't want to hurt anyone else.

Oh, God, she was so tired of fighting!

There was blood and dirty water soaking into the fabric of her 4,500 dollar _Dolce and Gabbana_ designer jeans. Mother would be furious. But, at this point, nothing really mattered except the guilt and the hurt and the insanity that clawed at her insides. Aurelia shrieked, keening, and began rocking back and forth on her heels to curb the need to break things.

It didn't work, though. She ended up slamming her fist into the pavement below and breaking four knuckles in the process.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, trembling furiously. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm _sorry_."

The whisper reached its crescendo in a wail of super-sonic noise. "I'M FUCKING SORRY!"

There was no answer from anyone anywhere.

Aurelia slammed her fists to the ground once more and wept.

* * *

Castle Draculi had its favorites, but the one residing at the top of the list was Ioana.

She was vicious and she was intelligent and she was ruthless. She was cruel and beautiful and greedy, so wonderfully greedy, bloodthirsty beyond all reason. There was a certain invulnerability about insanity, the stones had learned. Because its father was cruel and invulnerable, taking more than was needed, letting the old magick seep from the mountains and into his residence with an amazing callousness that made him untouchable. But, even though Father was its creator and incited the old magick, Ioana would forever be the favorite.

Because she never failed to feed the stones, incite the magick, and Castle Draculi was never hungry any more.

So it purred and it crooned and it crushed _anything_ and _anyone_ that stood between it and the pretty, vicious little queen that cared for it so well.

That included one man by the name of William Corvus. Castle Draculi was very old and its memory was long. It remembered the line of Corvus, the Raven Constellation. It was a House of noble men, borne of Ireland with their bright red hair and their kid blue eyes, knights in shiny ebony armor who stomped through its halls with military precision or danced in the ballroom with abandon. They laughed loudly and loved freely and whatever cruelty it tried to stir up in them was almost immediately snuffed out by their sense of damned _honor_. Yes, honor was the enemy of entropy and insanity.

Honor would not feed the stones.

And so when Ioana found herself enraptured by this man, this William Corvus, who laughed and spoke softly with a damned Irish lilt, who gave the queen her oh-so-precious heir with the mental blocks a mile high, the castle began to whisper. Softly at first, little hints and prods at the crumbling barriers of its precious queen's sanity. Destroyers really were _so_ easy to manipulate. So prone to violence. To aggression.

To perfect madness.

All Castle Draculi had to do was give its queen a little. . . . push in the correct direction. And it watched with unknown glee whilst the relationship between King by marriage and Queen by blood-right began to incinerate. It was slow, at first, arguments here and there. The whispers grew louder, stoked the flames higher, until what was once a smoldering ember became a raging inferno of clashing madness. And the stones purred contentedly even though the little princess was ever so confused because Mommy yelled constantly with that scary look in her eyes and oh-so-wonderful Daddy began to get shadows under his eyes, bruises on his skin. It was a shame, really, because William Corvus had been a rather powerful Mage, could have fed them well had he not been such a useless weakling. All honor and duty and kindness that he preached to the heavens above. They were starving under his reign because he would not let Ioana cut loose. And the souls in the walls screamed for blood, murder, revenge. They were so desperately hungry and the magick was strong with the ruling queen, but not the king, so they simply _had_ to get rid of him. Blood then was paid for with blood now, and the price of blood grew steeper with each new soul taken into the walls.

The castle would protect its queen, yes, but not without sacrifice.

And Ioana sacrificed things so beautifully.

Castle Draculi remembered many things. Just as it remembered the screams coming from the little princess, with her big purple eyes and pretty ebony curls, hair the color of a sword on an ebony window sill coated in blood. The tears. The anguish. It remembered how Ioana laughed and laughed, forever listening to its every call because the souls were her friends, her confidants, when Mummy and Daddy and Adrianna refused to be. It remembered long nights spent crooning soft bloody lullabies as the queen sobbed herself to sleep, clawing at her temples, begging to know _why why why whywhywhywhy?!_

She knew the answer - had always known the answer - and so the stones responded in the only way they knew how.

 _Blood was the price of the contract, and the blood was the stones of the castle, and we became the stones and so you know **why** little queen, destructive little girl. Do not stop now, oh no, you are far too close. The price is near-paid. A few more bodies and we'll let you sleep. A hundred more and we'll let you love your daughter. A thousand and we shall return the sanity you so desperately want. Poor little queen, precious Destroyer. No one loves. Not you like _**WE** _do. But don't worry._

 _We'll protect you always._

That was a decade passed.

The stones of Castle Draculi still cried for blood. But now they were heeded, fed well and often by a queen whose mind was so beautifully twisted that the old magick would protect her until days turned to night and the sky burned fire red. There was still one other sister, though, a girl with green eyes and hair like Saturn's rings. The castle remembers because her steps were foreign, not like Father's or Ioana's, gentle and benevolent and _weak_. Souls were angry things, bound by blood and slowly driven mad by the magick that kept them trapped in the walls. Centuries of contract. Of hunger. And for what?

A little princess with a pretty smile, come to take all they held dear? To keep them from being fed?

Oh, no, that simply would not do.

And so the stones began their siren's call once more. They asked for blood as always. But not just any blood. The blood of a princess with bonfire hair and the half-breed son who so desperately wished to burn them up. He was the Dragon and the Dragon paid not in blood, but in fire, and the stones would not relinquish their hold so easily. Their vicious, beautiful queen did not sleep easily. Such was the curse of the Destroyer, consumed by violence and unable to break away from the fractured chambers of their bitter black hearts. And so it was no struggle to make her listen. Mold her further.

She would find the boy, find the princess. She would kill them both.

And no man by the name of William Corvus was present to change her mind.

Castle Draculi made quite sure of that.

* * *

As the Royal Adviser, it often fell to Nikolai to rouse his queen out of her many stupors in order for operations in the Shadow Kingdom to run smoothly.

Ioana Tepes was intelligent and shrewd, and the economic side of their kingdom ran beautifully under her rule. However, the cruelty she kept bundled so close to her heart and the latent insanity she possessed often resulted in episodes of either mania or depression. One day, Ioana would be so wired and on edge no one dared go anywhere near their monarch. Others, she was benevolent to her people, generous with praise and poised gracefully atop her throne. Still other days would find her simply sitting and gazing off into the distance, listless and unaware of all that went on around her. But whether her mood be foul or fair, the queen was always poised and beautiful, cutting an imposing figure with her iron crown of thorns and glittering violet eyes.

But there were also days, weeks even, when Lady Death simply tore apart at the seams.

Oh, how Nikolai loathed those!

He was not a kind man by nature. His children had called him a frigid bastard when they were on good terms and a cruel sadist when his mood went south for winter. Nikolai's wife had died nearly two centuries previous by his own hand for daring to speak back to him over the punishment of their youngest son. Twenty lashes with a whip had, in the weathered Russian's mind, been a fair price to pay for the ten-year-old's insolent mouth. The loss of his mother was fair punishment for her insubordination. Swift, iron-fisted retribution was how Nikolai functioned. But with Ioana, he could not fall back into the tried and true method of beating someone into submission.

She was the queen, a Destroyer, and absolutely bat-shit _insane_ all in one beautiful package. It would not end well should he attempt to do something along those lines.

However, after nearly four and a half centuries of walking the planet had made Nikolai nothing if not adaptable, and so he learned quickly what to do on the days where Ioana simply could not be bothered to function like a normal upir.

The audience with the court was pushed back and rescheduled for the following day. The staff were all given strict orders to give Her Grace's bed chambers as wide a berth as possible as they went about their daily chores. No one, under any circumstances, was to contact him if the situation was not of the most dire nature. And, above all, there was not to a single outsider let in or out of Castle Draculi. The walls had eyes and ears and they knew things. Lady Ioana often listened.

It would not do to be killed simply because the wrong noble were to become aware of the queen's. . . . _delicate_ constitution.

Today, Nikolai supposed, was one of those torn-apart-at-the-seams days.

Squaring his lithe frame, the Royal Adviser gently knocked on the doors to Lady Death's chambers, well aware that he would find a scene of absolute carnage within. However, he kept his voice mild, a low soothing purr, and his face remained neutral as he slowly entered the lavish room. Blood coated the walls, the floors, the ceiling. The fine dark-stained walnut furniture dripped gore, bits of flesh and chunks of organ falling from them with a slow, wet _plop_! of sound. The lower half of Ioana's chamber-maid, a pretty girl by the name of Katya, lay in the center of the destruction. The severed legs were broken at odd angles, positively mangled, and it looked as though someone had physically wrenched her spine from its delicate attachment to her pelvis. The upper half was completely decimated, hence the rather extensive mess.

Nikolai sighed heavily; that would be the fifth chambermaid this month who had succumbed to one of Ioana's fits.

On the bed, its ivory silken sheets ruined and the canopy shredded, was Queen Ioana. Covered head to toe in viscera and sticky, congealed blood, the young queen rocked back and forth, back and forth in the center of her mattress. Her eyes were wild and white-rimmed, and her palms were pushed flat against her ears while her knees remained drawn towards her chin, crossed tight at the ankles. Crimson dripped from her skin lips, and bits of flesh clung to her disheveled ebony curls. The poor thing looked a frightful mess. However, Nikolai was not one to sympathize with anyone, not even his queen, so he simply strode around the worst of the mess and stood on the edge of the massive bed-frame.

"Your Grace? I'm afraid you've made rather a mess of that poor girl, don't you?" Nikolai crooned. "Why don't you get up? I shall draw you a bath and we'll get you looking presentable again."

Ioana did not look at him. She usually didn't when she got like this. But Nikolai Sterling was a master tactician and one did not simply live for as long as he did without learning the art of patience. So he stood quietly while the queen rocked and muttered, occasionally barking out random curses and orders in Romanian, French, or Czech. Her body trembled under the stress of her mind, her madness, but he could not reach out to touch her without risking bodily harm. So he waited. And waited. Seconds turned into minutes, which morphed into hours.

Katya was beginning to dry on her queen's body in a disgusting red-brown crust of filth. The walls had long since absorbed the mess, the stones stained crimson, but still Nikolai did not move. Ioana just kept on rocking.

Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.

She muttered things in threes, warped nursery rhymes that only her mind understood, attempting to quell the storm that raged behind her eyelids. Eventually, when the rocking stopped, the Royal Adviser deemed it safe enough to initiate physical contact with his queen. One strong hand, calloused by the years, reached out and grasped Ioana's shoulder firmly. She startled, hissing and sputtering, but Nikolai kept his silver gaze calm, cool. He did not try to move her - that would end in his Destruction as well - but he began speaking again.

"Your Grace, would you like me to draw you a bath? You are covered in blood, and it does not do to have such lowly genes desecrating your personage."

Ioana trembled and shook and her mouth formed words that did not make sense. "They want me to kill her, kill Adri. I have to. The castle is hungry, you see, and the payment is blood. I have to kill my sister because she is weak and I have to kill her spawn because he is a Dragon. Don't you see, Niki? A _Dragon_. He will burn us right up, kill us all, and the magick must be paid in blood and I can't do that if we're all dead, see. If I pay them, they'll let me sleep. Isn't that nice of them? They'll finally let me sleep. Maybe I'll see Will again. It would be ever so nice to see him. Don't you think, Niki?"

The older upir stiffened at the name and his eyes went hard. William Corvus had been a rather brave man to marry and bed Ioana Tepes. However, his gentle nature had proven fatal on a night Ioana had flown into one of her legendary rages. She'd Destroyed him brutally while he'd held their daughter in his arms. Aurelia had been traumatized. But not nearly so much as her mother. They had spent _days_ trying to pry the queen off of his body, and nearly fifteen men lost their lives before she finally came to the realization that her beloved Will would not be waking up anytime soon. Sometimes, Nikolai wondered if it had been that act rather than her incestuous bloodline and volatile nature which had really shoved Ioana over the edge into depravity.

They would never really know.

Nikolai Sterling may have not been accustomed to kindness or sympathy, but the man had a velvet tongue that served him well. "Yes, my queen, that would be lovely. But you cannot see William looking like this. He would be rather disappointed in you, wouldn't he?"

Ioana blinked at him owlishly for a few seconds. The expression on her beautiful features would have been child-like were it not for the gore crusting over on her cheeks and the chunks of drying meat in her hair. Then, slowly, the queen began to uncurl from her ungainly rocking position.

"You're right, Niki," she whispered. "Very right. Oh, he'll be so very disappointed in me. I wasn't supposed to kill people. But I just like it so much and the stones need to be fed. The castle is very hungry, and it won't protect me if I don't feed it. Maybe I'll try and explain it to him. I tried before but Will just didn't understand. I think I got angry. Did I get angry, Nikolai?"

Smooth and refined, the Royal Adviser lead the queen over to her en-suite bathroom. The walls seemed to close in around him, watching with accusing eyes, but the white-haired upir refused to cow under their scrutiny. Instead, he smiled and plucked a shriveled blue eye from the queen's long hair.

"Yes, Your Grace, I believe you were very angry with young William. You Destroyed him, remember?"

There was an odd mix of agony and elation in Ioana's violet eyes, and she stared at him pitifully as he set about sweeping a wet cloth over her soiled face. The nightgown was a lost cause, so he would have one of the servants replace it once Ioana was in a more stable frame of mind. Not that her "stable" frame of mind was that much less dangerous than when she went off the deep end, but at least she would have the wherewithal to keep the mess to a minimum.

"I did? Oh, that's right. Auri was screaming. I scared her."

Nikolai hummed low in his throat. The sound vibrated through the small room and was echoed by the walls around them. "Do you feel guilty, Your Grace? That is highly unlike you"

The water in the basin he had collected was bright red and filled with hunks of muscle, skin, tendon.

Ioana cocked her head to the side. "Guilty? I don't know. I loved my William. I didn't mean to Destroy him. But he just didn't _understand_. Not like you do, Nikolai. And I didn't want to scare Aurelia, really I didn't, but she was a very bad little girl. The castle told me so. I had to make her strong. She _has_ to be strong. Because if she isn't the stones will want her blood and that's the price for old magick, blood, and I cannot refuse them what they are owed. Don't you see? She is **mine** but at the same time she isn't."

The twenty-eight year old queen reached forward with one delicate hand and clutched at Nikolai's shoulder hard enough to grind bone against bone in the joint. He did not flinch. Not from the pain. Not from the wide-eyed insane pleas of his queen. Not from the sickly feeling of satisfied gluttony that oozed from the castle around him. Instead, his smile grew, and he leaned forward until their noses were almost touching.

"That's right, my darling queen," he crooned. "You made the princess strong that night. Kindness is weakness. William was kind, therefore he was weak, and you do not need that kind of weakness around you when trying to rule a kingdom. Do you understand?"

Ioana nodded and the fire returned to her eyes. "He was weak and so I was weak for loving him. I Destroyed him and it made me strong. It made the castle strong."

Nikolai sat back on his haunches as the regal bearing returned to Lady Death's shoulders and her spine became a steel rod. "And why must you kill your sister, Your Grace?"

The hatred that surged around them was hot and hissed like venom. "Because my sister was weak. Because I love her, and even though I hate her for it, that love is a weakness. So I need to crush her under my shoe like the cockroach she is."

A vicious, calculated grin curled Lord Sterling's thin lips and contorted his face into a death-mask. "Very good, Your Grace. Welcome back."

"Send in a maid. I shall move to Aurelia's chambers until this disgusting mess has been cleaned."

* * *

"Honestly, John quit complaining about your bacon for half a second and help me wake him up!"

Howie groaned quietly as the Irish lilt assaulted his sensitive ears. The fourteen year old tried to claw his way back to consciousness, fighting towards the smell of bacon as his stomach snarled at him. Christ on a cracker, this had to be a dream. A really really fucked up hunger dream. Yeah, that made sense, because sometimes his brain liked to play tricks on him when he got really hungry. So even though the bacon wouldn't _really_ help, it'd be something on his stomach, and that was what he needed to wake up for.

Except, when he opened his eyes, a set of worried blue-green gemstones stared right back at him. And the teen very nearly passed the fuck out again.

"Easy _cheann beag_ (little one)," Maureen urged softly. "You took quite a fall. Don't move too quickly, alright?"

Unable to form coherent words, Howie just stared and nodded dumbly at the woman who had been the subject of his first childhood crush. She smiled gently at him and helped him sit up, one delicate hand placed in the middle of his spine. The boy felt heat creep into his neck and ears. He was blushing like an idiot. Oh sweet Mary mother of Jesus, Maureen O'Hara was _touching_ him and talking to him. Talking to _him_! Of all people!

Shit, he hadn't been paying attention.

"Um, I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" he whispered sheepishly. "I didn't quite catch that last part."

Again, that gracious smile she was so good at crossed her lipstick-coated mouth, and Howie felt like his brain was going to implode. "I asked if you were okay. Nothing hurts? You hit your head when you fell."

Dumb and numb and in shock, Howie shook his head. "Gosh, you're prettier in person than I thought."

It took a moment for the words to register. But the instant they did, every inch of skin from his collar-bones to his cranium turned brick-red with embarrassment. Jesus, had he really just _said_ that?! Of all the idiotic, stupid, inconsiderate. . . !

Maureen laughed and the fourteen year old boy was struck incoherent. "I'll take that as a compliment from a young man so handsome as yourself! Now, up you get. It's time for breakfast, and if I have to listen to Duke complain about wasted bacon for another second, I think I'll shoot him."

Again, Howie nodded stupidly. He allowed Maureen to pull him to his feet and steer him back towards the circular kitchen table, where Eddie was already sitting and stuffing his face. John - it still felt supremely cool even think the legendary Duke's name in the present tense - was positioned, ram-rod straight, on his brother's left, dark blue gaze sharp. Apparently Eddie felt that not even John Wayne sitting next to him, eating bacon and gravy on toast, was enough to keep him from devouring everything he could get his hands on.

Honestly, it felt kind of good to watch the larger boy regain his normal appetite.

"C'mon, boy, sit down and eat," John growled, not too unkindly. "If you stuck your tongue out and stood sideways you'd look like a zipper."

His face was still red as a tomato. However, with his stomach growling angrily at him, Howie could hardly refuse a meal that looked and smelled as good as the spread lying before him. Grinning, the boy piled a ceramic plate high with everything he could get his hands on. Bacon, fluffy biscuits smothered in sausage gravy, little Smokies smothered in barbecue sauce, toast with grape jelly, fried eggs in Tabasco sauce - they were all devoured before the teenager could get a handle on his all-consuming hunger. Eddie was eating at about the same pace, egg stuck to his chin and cheeks full to bursting.

Neither caught sight of the amused looks passing between the former Hollywood stars.

"Holy crap, that was great!" Eddie moaned after about ten minutes of solid, non-stop eating. "You make a mean batch of bacon, Mr. Wayne. I'm impressed."

"Call me John, kid," came the amused reply. "Or Duke. You're makin' me feel old. And you're welcome. You both looked like kicked dogs last night. The least I could do was make you a decent breakfast, 'specially since you dealt with that D'angoulême boy for so long without kickin' his ass."

Maureen frowned, slapping her mate on the arm none too gently. "Really, Duke, watch your language! They're children."

Neither teenager could stifle their grins when the broad-shouldered cowboy muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "Yes, dear." Maureen's smug grin was answer enough for them, and she pressed a kiss to his smooth-shaven cheek, eliciting another irritated grumble from John. But there was the ghost of a smile on his face, and he draped a shoulder across the back of his seat casually. Eddie sat back in his chair and curled his legs criss-cross. His dark eyes were suspicious, but intrigued, and he didn't say a word for the longest time. Howie was much more easily read, staring at his childhood stars with awe in his bright blue eyes.

"Okay, okay, I've gotta ask you both some things, so please don't take this the wrong way," Eddie suddenly blurted, leaning forward. His eyes darted from John to Maureen and back again. "You're _actually_ John Wayne - the frickin' John Wayne - and Maureen O'Hara, right? This isn't some really jacked-up way of getting us to pass out and look like idiots in your house?"

John tossed back his head and laughed, and the familiarity of it was jarring in Howie's mind. "You gotta point there, kid! Yeah, I'm actually John Wayne. And I'm not sure anyone could try and successfully pass themselves off as Maureen over here. She's a bit of a handful."

The tall red-headed woman's eyes flashed silver, and John's chair suddenly tipped violently backwards. He jolted upright, panicked and trying to keep from falling over. He looked over to Maureen with a mixture of terror, irritation, and chagrin. Howie's mouth dropped open. Eddie looked _way_ too impressed for his own good. Smug grin returning in full force, she folded her arms primly under her chest in the universal pose for "I just won, asshole."

"What was that about being a handful, darling?" she purred. "I don't believe I heard you correctly."

"Holy shit," Eddie breathed. "That was so frickin' COOL!"

Howie reached over and smacked his brother in the chest. "Dude, don't swear in front of people we don't know! What happens if they tell Mom?!"

The taller boy blanched. "Sorry 'bout that, guys," he muttered.

Both the Duke and Maureen offered him gentle smiles, waving off his embarrassment in that careless, forgiving way only older people seemed to possess. Long, delicate fingers brushed through Eddie's thick curls as the former Queen of Technicolor stepped around him. Then all the condiments, all the dishes and silverware and uneaten food, lifted off of the table of its own accord. Again, Howie's jaw dropped, and Eddie barely contained a shout of "holy shit!" once he saw what had happened. John barked out another rough laugh.

"What? Never seen someone with telekinesis before?" he teased.

Howie gaped like a fish. Eddie stuttered incoherently for a long moment.

"I'll take that as a no."

"Honestly, John!" Maureen scolded. "Don't antagonize them! I seem to remember you having about the same reaction when I showed you my Gift for the first time. Remember? It was back in '69. You couldn't speak proper English for around fifteen minutes if my memory serves me."

The scowl returned as what remained of breakfast floated over to the counter, the refrigerator opening to accept leftovers while the dishes piled up in the sink. Maureen stood behind them, expression mild and unperturbed by her lover's unhappy look. She leaned over and pinched Howie's cheek with a grin. "Surely your mother would've explained Gifts to you both? You're young, but I don't think you're so young that you wouldn't know about Mages."

Eddie blinked rapidly. "Well. . . . yeah, she's explained some stuff to us. But hearing it and seeing it are two different things."

Howie nodded in agreement. "I hear that! I mean, I'm an Enchanter and everything, but telekinesis is just. . . . wow!"

One could practically feel the smug pride oozing out of every porcelain inch of Maureen's being. She floated back to her original seat on John's left side and curled into him, grinning at him with her chin on his muscular shoulder. The Duke just snorted and growled out a fond "show off" as he grasped her much smaller hand, calloused fingers laced with her smooth ones. They looked like any other happy couple, familiar and comfortable and almost painfully in love. It made Eddie's chest ache a little bit.

"Okay, before you two go off and make goo-goo eyes at each other, I've got another question," he rasped, forehead creased in a frown. "How come you looked old in your later movies, but you don't look old now? Don't upir age too?"

Mortified, Howie began slapping at his larger brother in earnest, barely managing to keep a handle on his amplified strength so he wouldn't hurt the half-human boy.

Eddie, however, held him at arm's length and dead-panned, "Ignore Howie. He's got a major fan-boy crush on you, Maureen, and he's a little upset that I dare to ask the tough questions."

"HOLY CRAP, EDDIE, COULD YOU FRICKIN' NOT?!" Howie practically shrieked.

His eyes were bright icy blue in his blushing face, and Eddie was desperately trying not to fall into hysterics like he had earlier. It wasn't working. He was sputtering and chortling, tears gushing from his dark blue eyes as he slapped at the bony hands clawing for his mouth. John watched with a fond smile - they really were _so_ like his own kids - and Maureen still had an eyebrow raised at the red-haired boy's audacious question. But at least they were laughing and smiling like normal teenagers. When he'd seen them last night, the Duke had been worried that neither one would ever really smile again.

It looked like his worries had been unfounded.

Or, at least, the boys were less scarred than he initially believed.

"Boys!" Maureen called. "I can't answer your question if you don't stop goofing around long enough to hear me!"

They stopped. Howie nearly fell out of his chair, red to the roots of his hair from mortification. Eddie was still laughing noiselessly, a wheeze escaping his mouth every now and again, and he not-so-subtly wiped tears off his cheeks. John sat forward, fingers still laced with Maureen's, and fixed them both with a serious expression.

"You really wanna know why we look so young, boy?" he growled. "Do ya?"

Eddie grinned cheekily. "Uh, yeah? That way I can steal your girlfriend when I'm ninety."

"Oh my God, Eddie, he's going to shoot you," Howie groaned into his palms.

Maureen, thankfully, seemed to think that the teenager's bold declaration was funny. She giggled into her hand and held John's ire at bay. For a while, anyway. The older upir's jaw was clenched tight, eyes narrowed dangerously, and Howie's fingers shook as he flashed to the most iconic scene from _True Grit_.

 _"Fill your hand, you son of a bitch!_ "

There was going to be a shootout in this house, and Eddie was going to fucking lose.

"If you're done being a little shit, you'll be pleased to know that upir have a cool way of hunting humans," the Duke barked. "We can change our age and appearance to fit the age of whatever person we're trying to hunt or fool at the time. Make sense?"

"Makes sense," Eddie responded. "Hey, since I'm only half upir, does that mean I'm immortal? Or am I just going to old gracefully and be a sexy old man? 'Cause I think I'm okay with that last option if I can't live forever."

Howie finally snapped. "Holy friggin' crap, Eddie, if you don't shut up within the next five seconds you won't have to worry about your friggin aunt anymore, 'cause I might just kill you myself!"

"What on EARTH is going on in here?"

Both teenagers sat bolt upright, eyes wide, and looked to the kitchen door. Adrianna stood in a pair of blue jeans and a plain black tee-shirt, bare feet tapping impatiently on the hardwood floor. There were still shadows under her bright green eyes, still exhaustion buried deep within them, but she seemed much calmer than she had this morning. However, a calm Adri did not necessarily mean a _safe_ Adri.

Calm Adri meant there was a much greater chance of her going into mom-mode and punishing them.

Howie looked at Eddie, who looked back at him in a panic. Then they began babbling in sync.

"Eddie was being rude. . . !"

"I was trying to get some answers. . . .!"

". . . . why didn't you _tell us_ that this was John Wayne's house?!"

". . . . do you know if there are any hot girls around here?"

"Eddie's a man-whore!"

"Howie's a fan-boy wuss!"

" _O Doamne!_ (Oh my God!)" Adrianna hissed tiredly. "Boys, no shouting! And one at a time, please!"

Two jaws slammed shut faster than any jaws had ever slammed shut before. Eddie was trying to reign in his grin and failing miserably. Howie looked suitably chastised and was kicking himself for not using his Gift on his brother to make him shut up long before it had gotten to this point. Neither one of them, however, were stupid enough to back-talk to their formidable mother, despite the fact that she was only 5'0" in her bare feet.

John looked thoroughly amused by the whole situation, and was trying to avoid getting smacked upside the head by his lover.

Life, it seemed, just got a whole lot more interesting.

* * *

 **A/N: I LIVE!  
**

 **Holy shitballs, people, this is my third chapter in the last three weeks, and I am majorly impressed with myself. Like, Jesus's tits, I have become a speed-demon with major laptop skills.** **Okay, so maybe that's stretching it just a tad, but you've gotta admit, I'm making headway with this project. What can I say? Hyperbole is my specialty.**

 **So what did you like? What fucked with your brain-hole? People you feel sorry for? Bits you laughed at? Tell me your thoughts by clicking on that big white box in the crotch of the screen and leaving me a review! Constructive criticism is forever welcome; however, flames will be met with swift and painful cyber-retribution.**

 **Meaning I won't actually do anything, but I'll think you're very mean and leave you a frowny-face in the next author's note.**

 **Well that's all I got for you folks! Hope you got a nice read out of all this, and I look forward to reading your thoughts.**

 **Until the next chapter,  
BlackRosePoetry**


	14. Novocaine Hearts and Gasoline Matches

**Chapter Fourteen: Novocaine Hearts and Gasoline Stains**

So maybe living with John Wayne wasn't the greatest thing ever.

Eddie groaned heavily, veins and muscles in his arms throbbing in time with his heartbeat as he heaved another hay bale into the loft of the barn. It had only been three days since his mother had moved them to Red Canyon Ranch – which was a fucking _stupid_ name in his opinion because they were in the middle of the fucking woods, but whatever – and Mr. Wayne had already decided that he and Howie weren't going to be sitting around. Even though it was somewhere in the range of ten degrees below and the Sun hadn't even risen yet, John had woken them up to move hay in the loft to make room for some alfalfa bales he was bringing in later on in the week. His mother hadn't objected, although somewhere deep down Eddie thought that John hadn't asked her if he could use her children as free labor while she was entirely conscious, and so here he stood.

In a barn.

That was ten degrees below zero.

 _Sweating_ under his jeans and sweatshirt.

"Quit sittin' there thinkin', boy!" John barked from somewhere below. "I ain't payin' ya to whine and groan!"

Eddie scratched his head furiously and grumbled, "You're not _paying_ us at all, you ass."

"What the hell was that?!"

The teenager gulped heavily, eyes widening, and he quickly squatted down to grab another bale. "Nothing!"

The twine was rough and it bit into his fingers through his leather work gloves, merciless, but the fourteen year old just grunted and heaved the bale upwards again. The burn returned with a vengeance. But he kept his mouth shut, falling into the routine of hefting and tossing, stacking each bale with careful precision on a platform where Howie could reach down and get them to the upper level of the split loft. His brother was breathing heavily, shivering in his own coveralls – which John had pulled from somewhere after grumbling that he was too skinny – even as he tossed the large square-bales into big stacks by him. He made the motion look so _easy_. And it pissed Eddie off, because _he_ had always been the strong one, the macho guy who lifted weights and played football.

"I'm almost done up here, Eddie," Howie called. "Two more and then we'll just shove the others up against the beams over here. That should be enough space to get all the other stuff up the ladder without us falling off."

Eddie glanced up and caught the hard edges in his brother's eyes, the way the cobalt irises were diamond-sharp and shattered, and immediately felt guilty for his jealousy. Howie wasn't a jock. He was an upir.

All because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time and associated with a half-human kid who shouldn't have even existed.

"Dude, you okay?" Howie called again. "You look like a space-cadet over there."

Eddie shook his head, sweat flinging out from his curly red hair, and forced a lopsided smile onto his face. "Just thinking. It's not like I do it very often, may as well get some practice before we have to go back to school."

Howie rolled his eyes and shoved his sock-cap further down over his ears, nose shiny red with the cold. "Well quit it so we can go inside. I think Maureen said something about making biscuits and gravy, and I feel like eating people food today."

Nodding, the boys got back to work, unaware of John standing below them and listening to their conversation. The old cowboy snorted at the two, taking a swig of whiskey from his pocket flask before going back to saddling his old sorrel gelding, Snip. Those two may have complained like spoiled brats – mostly because they hadn't been made to do any chores this strenuous before – but they were hard workers when they finally got down to business. There was rage burning deep in his chest, and it flared every time he caught a glimpse of the scars those kids wore. They were _children_. Serge may have been a lord, and Ioana may have called herself the queen, but neither of those assholes had the right to threaten children who had never even been aware of upir society until a month ago.

Snip whickered crossly at him, and John suddenly realized that his hands were too tight on the belts around the Quarter horse's gut. "Sorry about that, old boy. Got a little carried away."

Finishing his task quickly, John swung his body up into the saddle with practiced ease, looking up to the loft with a grin. "Boys, you finish up there and go on in. Your Momma and Maureen'll have breakfast ready. I'm gonna go check the south pasture, make sure there's no missing calves, and we'll go out shootin' when I get back."

Eddie's head popped over the side, eyes wide with excitement. "You were serious about that?! Awesome!"

Howie came into view a few seconds later, bits of hay clinging to his woolen cap and coveralls, and shot the older upir a suspicious look. "You're sure? Adri agreed to this?"

The grin on John's face widened and his eye-teeth gleamed wickedly in the low light of the early morning sun. "What your Momma don' know won' hurt her, boys. Besides, if you've got Ioana on your tail, it's best you know how to shoot."

For a hot second, it seemed like Howie might _actually_ turn down his offer for fear of incurring Adrianna's wrath. John didn't exactly blame him – tiny as she was, that red-headed Romanian was _mean_ when you pissed her off – but it did disappoint him just a little bit. Then wickedness flamed in the boy's blue eyes, and he grinned from his crouched position in the dusty hay.

"Only if I get to shoot first – Eddie always does things before I get to."

The cowboy tossed back his head and laughed, a long belly-laugh that echoed from the wooden beams and gleaming tack overhead. "You got it, slim! But ya'll better get to movin' if you want to get finished and eat before I get back. I'm not one to reward lazy men."

With a chorus of "Yes sir!" the teens disappeared into the loft, and the sound of bales being tossed frantically began crashing around them. John shook his head, chuckling, and snugged his cowboy hat more firmly on his head. Outside, the Sun was just cresting over a grove of cedar trees that surrounded the house, thin winter light illuminating the fresh snow that covered the ground. With a quiet click, he urged Snips forward and out into the frozen air. Somewhere in the distance, cows were calling, huddled together in their thick winter coats. All was still.

As John urged his horse into a careful trot outside, Eddie grinned. His arms were burning. He was sweating under his jeans and sweatshirt, hair plastered to his head, eyes stinging with salt. The twine that held each bale of hay together bit into his fingers mercilessly. It was somewhere in the range of ten below and the Sun had just now risen.

Maybe living with John Wayne wouldn't be so bad after all.

He'd give it a few more days before making a decision.

* * *

"You're entirely sure this is safe? It is very cold outside, and neither of my boys have any experience with firearms. Maybe we should wait a few weeks. Or months. They may not even be ready by this time next year!"

Maureen sighed good-naturedly at the much younger woman, who twisted her hands and paced nervously in front of the large bay windows in the living room, and took a measured sip of her Barry's Earl Grey before gesturing idly towards the fire. A few logs lifted from the pile beside the hearth and fell into the crackling orange cinders below. Another blast of warmth washed into the large room. Pleased with herself, the Irish woman returned her attention to Adrianna, who had begun to run her fingers through her hair in agitation, brow furrowed as she watched the proceedings outside. John had only brought out two guns: a Remington .45 caliber revolver, and a Browning 20-gauge shotgun. Apparently, Eddie wanted to start with the revolver, his dark eyes alight with excitement as the gruff-looking cowboy demonstrated the different parts of the weapon.

"Adrianna, dear, you have nothing to worry about," Maureen soothed. "Duke won't even let those boys _breathe_ on that pistol until they can recite the rules of gun safety forwards, backwards, and sideways. Besides, they need to learn how to handle weapons, and there's no one on the continent more qualified than my husband. So for the love of all that is holy _sit down woman_!"

Still on edge and not expecting the other Irish upir to be so forceful, Adrianna let out a long, low hiss of irritation. The heavy curtains fluttered. End tables shuddered angrily. The tea tray, which sat on the coffee table before Maureen, rattled and threatened to topple were it not for a brilliant effort of concentration on the telekinetic's part. Then, quick as it began, everything stilled and the young Romanian queen looked incredibly guilty.

"I beg your pardon, Maureen," Adri murmured quietly. "I suppose I'm just on edge. Sometimes I lose control."

Feeling the beginnings of a headache pulsing behind her eyes, Maureen smiled weakly. "You've nothing to apologize for. My, that's a strong grip you've got! I almost didn't catch the tea!"

Adrianna, green eyes darting for one last glance at the boys and John out front, moved to take a seat in an armchair nearby. "My Gift allows me to mimick and enhance the Gift of any upir who come into close proximity. With just you here, I can only mimick telekinesis - although I could concentrate and overtake your own abilities if I desired. With more upir around, I can pick and choose which Gifts to emulate to better suit my needs at the time. That's how I was able to cloak Eddie for so long. His own Gift is relatively dormant, but I can pull on just enough magick to mask his Aura from most Trackers."

Taking another long sip of her tea, Maureen eyed the petite woman across from her speculatively. "That's rather a rare ability. Why not use it to take back your throne? Surely Ioana could not Destroy you if you were to simply reflect her own efforts back upon her?"

It was a clever ploy, Adri soon realized, one that diverted her attention off of John and Eddie out front, who were attempting to line up shots to take out cans lined on the corral posts. Howie was standing a fair distance away, idly scratching their Blue-Heeler, Jed, behind the ears as he observed the lesson. But she couldn't ignore the years of training that her tutors had tattooed in her skull, etiquette and manners being a lady's first form of defense in diplomacy. So, with a tight smile and barely trembling hands, she poured herself a cup of the hot Earl Grey. Maureen's silver gaze told its own story, calculating and sharp as they watched her add honey and a bit of milk to her cup.

"It's not so simple," Adri sighed. "My sister is the most powerful Destroyer to be born in the last three centuries. My Gift is strong; however, it's nothing compared to hers. I'd die before she would even begin to get a nosebleed. And then there would be no one to protect my boys."

"Well, that's not precisely true," Maureen interjected gently. "There are hundreds of groups of upir who would die to defend your sons. _Especially_ Edward. Ioana is a monster, and only sycophants would leave children to die at her hand. Just know that."

Wordlessly, Adrianna nodded, shivering even though the fire crackled cheerfully and a heavy blanket draped over her shoulders. Images flashed through her mind.

 _Eddie bleeding and broken on the asphalt in November, looking at her with terrified dark eyes. Broken nose, blood over his lips and chin, livid black eyes swelling under his too-pale skin. Serge grinning nearby, elegant and uncaring about her boy as he suffered. Liza's corpse. Howie, dear sweet little thing he was, gasping for breath as all the blood in his veins drained like ink. She still remembered that he'd tasted like pepperoni pizza and licorice._

Nausea roiled in her stomach, tears welling unbidden in her eyes, and the small woman forced herself to take another sip of tea. Anxiety was an enemy. But this time it would **not** win.

The sound of a gunshot cracked through the heavy silence that had fallen, and Adrianna nearly fell out of her seat, heart pounding violently in her ribcage. She caught sight of Maureen glancing out at all the commotion, a smile forming on the other woman's pale face. It struck her nerves wrong. She was fidgeting in place, wary, muscles coiled taut.

"HOLY SHIT!"

Adrianna was up and out of her chair before Maureen could think to move, practically sprinting for the window at the sound of Eddie's voice. Her son was leaning on his knees, one hand clasped over his right eye as he cursed. She could see how red and shiny his hands were from the cold - though it had warmed considerably since the sun had risen - but there was also something dripping between his fingers, staining the snow. John and Howie were both practically howling with laughter, the younger boy doubled up in the snow and clutching at his middle while the older upir contented himself with holding the Remington .45 revolver out of reach. The grin on John's weathered face could've lit a room.

But the only thing Adri could see was the blood dripping from between Eddie's fingers.

" _O Doamne!_ (Oh my God!)" she gasped.

"Oh dear," Maureen drawled, "it seems Eddie didn't listen about how much strength he needed to hold the revolver."

Before the sentence had even finished, Adrianna was sprinting for the front door, cursing in every language she could think of. Maureen chuckled and rolled her eyes, finishing off her cup of Earl Grey with nonchalant ease before moving to follow the much younger mother. She could understand poor Adrianna's nervousness concerning her son's safety - God knew that she needed to be alert to whatever Ioana had in store - but that just wasn't going to do anything productive for the two teenagers. If the boys did not follow safety rules, they needed to understand the consequences of their actions. Getting hurt was a consequence. A rather frightening consequence to some mothers, but a consequence nonetheless. The younger woman had yet to learn that sometimes children needed to get a few cuts and bruises in order to get better, to learn lessons.

She would learn eventually.

Until then. . .

" _Ce naiba sa întâmplat?!_ (What in the hell happened)"

Maureen sighed internally, stepping into the cold December afternoon with barely a shudder. It was almost comical, the height difference between Adrianna and John, but the dangerous look in the upir queen's emerald gaze dispelled any form of humor that might be found in the situation. John was still trying to contain his laughter. Howie made no such effort, still howling as he rolled in the snow, Jed licking at his ears and head furiously. Eddie was blinking blood out of his injured eye, a split in the brow gushing crimson as he tried to dispel the enormous blush that was creeping up his neck.

"It's not his fault, Mom," the bleeding teenager blurted quickly. "He told me to tighten my grip and keep my arm stiff, but I didn't listen. Please don't be mad!"

"Well, I'll tell you somethin', Adri," John chuckled good-naturedly. "Your boy ain't the lyin' sort. That's pretty well how it happened."

Maureen strode up to Eddie without pausing to look back on Adrianna's sputtering and cursing. She tilted his head gently, observing the damage for a short minute before smiling at him. "This isn't serious. Come inside, dear, and I'll get you cleaned up. That'll give your brother time to practice with the revolver before you come back and try the shotgun."

The petite woman, who had been alternating between ruthless glares at John and concerned, horror-stricken looks at her son, snapped her attention towards them. "You are _not_ serious!"

Though she was not a patient woman by nature, Maureen kept a handle on her rising temper by thinking about all the things that Adrianna had been through over her life. One hand still firmly on Eddie's shoulder - the poor boy looked absolutely _mortified_ \- she turned to address her rightful monarch with a cool expression, ignoring the warning looks John was shooting her from behind Adrianna's back.

"I am very serious. Eddie wasn't seriously injured, and he's learned his lesson about listening to John's safety rules. I see no reason why Howie cannot try his hand, nor do I think it a bad idea for them both to try shooting a shotgun. They _need_ to learn these things if they are to be able to defend themselves sensibly and safely. Injuries are part of that process, unfortunately."

It seemed that Adrianna was equal parts furious and understanding, torn between protecting her sons like a bear and stepping out of the way so they could grow. After a pregnant pause, Howie was the one who stepped forward, having finally calmed down from his laughing fit. The boy was serious, all sharp blue eyes and bruises on hollow cheeks, and he reached out to put a hand on her thin shoulder. Adri startled slightly.

"Let us do this, Mom," Howie asked quietly. "Please? We're not little kids anymore."

That was the defining blow, Maureen knew. Her own daughter had used similar tactics as they grew, although she was much older than these two had been when she finally figured out that the sure-fire way past her defenses was a quiet, pleading "mama." Adrianna slumped in defeat, green eyes simultaneously frustrated and resigned, and leaned forward to pull her other boy into a hug. Eddie tensed under Maureen's fingers, but she shook her head, silently warning him not to ruin the moment.

"Alright, _dragă_ (sweetheart)," she conceded. "But, for the love of everything, _please_ be more careful than your brother. I don't think my nerves could handle more injuries today.

Howie laughed quietly, squeezing his smaller mother tightly before replying. "I promise, no more blood today. Until lunch."

Everyone chuckled as Adrianna slapped him on the chest lightly, expression scolding. The air was cold and the sunshine was thin, but their hearts were warm. And that made things just a little bit easier.

* * *

There was a monster living in the French Quarter.

He was spoken of in hushed whispers, fearful voices hissing and announcing all the magicks he possessed. The people spoke of blood rituals, of voodoo that could make the dead walk again. They hissed warnings of curses and blood, of a shadow that moved in time to its master's will, a beautiful creature who could ensnare you with nothing but the threat lying in his quicksilver eyes. Mouths wove tales of a man who stood at seven feet, with mahogany skin and teeth so white they glowed in the darkness of his hovel, a beast with white tattoos inked along the muscled lines of his body who never stepped into the sunlight.

 _He feeds on your blood_ , murmured the children.

 _He can tell you your future_ , crooned their mothers.

 _He'll take your wives and he'll consume your children_ , warned the husbands.

But the whores. . . .

The whores knew the truth. Blood begets blood, you see, and the Master needed the magick to keep himself hidden, to keep himself safe. Because even monsters feared _something_ -

\- or in this case it was some _one_ , a queen with an iron crown, her throne made of bones groaning beneath her as mothers wailed over the disecated corpses of children and tears of blood coursed over their cheeks, and the queen of the dead things laughed and laughed and _laughed_ -

\- and the monster feared a girl, they knew, one with violet eyes and raven hair, crimson on her lips and steel in her spine, because she was coming for the OTHER, the one that the monster had brought into his domain because, yes, there are monsters that possess more power than those that feed on blood and tell futures and take wives.

The Other had crimson eyes and a blade-sharp smile, a proper French accent that held no tint of Cajun to it. He wove enchantments into his words that made the Master seem a mere novice and pretended he did not look over his shoulder, searching for the girl who would bring him to an end. Secretly, silently, the whores thought it would be wonderful, watching these men with their spells and their eyes and their blood be torn asunder. Watch them feed the magicks with their own bodies rather than the bodies of those children-women-men too stupid to realize they had a predator in their midst.

Yes, there was a monster living in the French Quarter. . . .

* * *

"Bellatrix, have you Tracked a location?"

A giggle, a sniff. "Not quite, Lady Aurelia. But he's close. I'll find him, you know, I always find them. And then I can eat right?!"

"Of course, Bellatrix. If you find Serge before the week's end, you may eat as much as you like. Kill them all - they're just humans."

* * *

The whores chained to the will of the Master, their monster, could only smile, fragmented stained-glass grins that split their semen-stained lips. They were dolls made flesh, objects given life, nothing more. Not to the Master. Not to their clients. Warm bodies with no purpose but pleasure. But the magicks their warden used spread far, grew strong, embedded itself inside the empty expanses of their skulls. And though the whores were but dolls given life they could _feel_ things as their Master could. Sense energies. See the world around them in colors and patterns and fluctuations of crystalline blood-stained horror that would drive normal humans mad.

And the whispers begot in blood crooned to them, soothing, Devil tongues and ancient languages that signaled _her_ arrival. The girl. She of the violet eyes and the raven hair, who ignored the call of her father before and did as her mother shrieked. Whose hands were stained crimson and whose servant spiraled down the rabbit-hole called madness. Her soul was dark, warped, twisted by violence and magicks long-thought dead, a debt to be paid in blood that she knew nothing about, its toll growing steeper by the day. Aurelia, the sunshine.

Aurelia, the princess.

Aurelia, the demon chosen by the debt.

So the whores watched their monster, the Master, fret and strut about his stage of dried-skin with shattered-concrete, cum-stained grins and bruised eyes.

Sometimes, when the night grew dark and full of terrors, a demon was called upon to slay a monster. Two evils clashing in a battle of swords and lashing teeth. The magick had taught them that, slowly and easily as it seeped into the cracks of their psyches. The Master and the Other against the Demon and the Imp.

They need only wait for the sweet freedom of death. . . .

* * *

 **A/N: Okay, so I'm not dead. . . . yet. Please don't kill me for taking so long to update. I promise I'll make attempts to do better. My muse has simply decided to fly away and take a vacation. For nearly an entire year. . . .**

 **Oops.**

 **Anyway! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! It's quite a bit shorter than those that came before it, mainly because I've been having so much trouble trying to put my thoughts down in a cohesive fashion, and I'm fairly certain that the end portion wasn't meant to be quite this. . . disjointed? Still, I'm kind of proud of how it turned out, even though it went from fluff to me talking about voodoo-doll whores in 0.2 seconds. Needless to say, this story is FAR from over, and it will likely culminate in several years of hard work, blood, tears, and hand-cramps.**

 **With that, I thank you for your patience and understanding. Leave a review for me! Constructive criticism is always welcome, so feel free to give me suggestions on how to improve!**

 **As always and with love, I'll see you all in the next chapter!**

 **BlackRosePoetry**


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